


swear to god, i ain't ever gonna repent

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Mr & Mrs Smith AU, Non-Graphic Violence, Secret Identity, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2020-12-27 23:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Now that he's sitting down, Silver's gazing up at him, as Flint picks up his glass in one hand. "I like the look of this one," he says, rotating the bottle before pouring. "Did you just get it?""I thought you might," Silver says. "It's vintage - "Flint lets the entire wine bottle slip out of his hand. Like a flash of lightning, Silver's hand darts out, and he catches it mid-air.They both freeze.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello?????? you thought i was DONE with these AUs???????????? THINK AGAIN
> 
> one day I'll finish something else, but until then, enjoy part one (out of three probably)

“So how many years have you been together?”

“Married or together?”

  
  
“I mean, we got married two months in - “

“Either,” the therapist says. “I just want to get a sense of the timeline of your relationship.” 

  
  
“Well, it’ll be five years this - “

“Six.”

“What?”

  
  
“Six years.”

“ - okay. Five or six years.” 

If the therapist had noticed the icy look, she doesn’t mention it. Or at least, not outright. “On a scale of one to ten, how happy are the two of you together?” 

A beat passes. Silver steeples his fingers, propping up his chin. “Do you mean - like, is ten all the time impossibly, crazily happy? And one is like I’m in hell, or is it more like - “

  
  
“Seven,” Flint says, shortly.

“_Seven_?”

  
  
“That means I’m happy -that we’re happy.”

  
  
“Well, yeah, sure, but seven _\- “ _Silver drags his eyes meaningfully over to the therapist, then back to his husband. “I mean, we’re not having issues. Just - seven sounds so - _seven_.”

“Would you stop saying seven?”

“Oh, I can’t say numbers?”

  
  
Flint visibly controls his features. “You can say whatever you want,” he says, too mild to be natural. Silver represses an eye roll.

The therapist checks her afternoon calendar, none too subtly. “It’s good that you’re coming in,” she says, then carefully, “A lot of couples wait until there’s some significant disagreement or event that causes them to come in for counseling. But you’re both taking the… proactive step here, as you said over the phone - “ 

“Like coming in for a check-up, yeah? Just making sure everything is going good - which it _is _\- “ 

“A tune-up,” Flint says, and he reaches out. Without looking, Silver takes his hand in turn. “Like you would do for a car.” 

“A car that you’d call a seven,” Silver adds, because he can’t help himself, and Flint’s grip tightens ever so slightly on his fingers. 

\---

Back home, Silver ventures, “We are good, right?” 

It’s as close as he’s ever managed to say it out loud. _Is it supposed to be like this now_? 

He’s not unhappy - far from it. They’re not like some hideously passive-aggressive heterosexual couple, after all, not like the Rogers down the street. He loves Flint.

Flint glances over at him, from where he’s brushing his teeth in their tidy master bathroom. He leans down to spit out toothpaste. “Of course we are,” he says, dabbing his mouth with a hand towel, eyeing Silver like he’s trying to pick some argument. 

Maybe he’s just unused that this is his life - that they have matching hand towels now, that they’ve moved out of the city into this house that he never dreamed he’d have, that Silver spends his time - when he’s not working - thinking about things like rug patterns, signing a new car lease, maybe about planning a weekend upstate when Flint’s back from his work trip.

“It’s not like we have any huge issues,” Silver says, leaning against the bathroom door, “No secret children, scandalous affairs, even a gambling problem, I mean - “ 

“Silver,” Flint interrupts, “We’re fine. We’re more than fine, all right?” He puts his toothbrush back into the cup on the side, brushes by him to get changed into those fancy silk pajamas he likes so much. Pajamas that Silver likes very much, too, though more to take them off when Flint’s in an amenable mood about it. “We don’t have to go back unless you want to.” 

His words, though, only bring some comfort. Silver stares back at his own reflection in the mirror. “The therapist’s office_ is_ pretty far away.”

“Hm.” 

Silver turns on the tap water. “Then that’s decided,” he says, though he’s not sure if he’s telling himself or Flint. 

“I have to travel again,” he can hear Flint say over the running water. “They want me to check up some plans down south.” 

“So soon?” Flint had just come back from a trip to Los Angeles, landing only a few hours before their therapy appointment today. 

“Guess they need me.” 

As usual, no further explanation. Silver sighs. “I’ll see you Friday?”

  
  
Flint appears behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Probably,” he says. “We said we’d go to the Lows’ party that night, didn’t we?”

“Ugh,” Silver says, “Do we have to?”

  
  
“I could steal back my grill set,” Flint says, and Silver snorts. “Plus, they always have their good wine out. We could probably smuggle a bottle out.”

“Oh, in that case,” Silver says, and he catches sight of Flint’s quick, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk in the mirror before he bends his head to wash his face. 

He loves Flint. But it just feels like something is missing - and if Silver is right in his guess on what that is, well, it’s not something he can change.

Like, _ever_. 

He pads into their bedroom, where Flint’s already in bed with his newspaper. Fondly, Silver watches the way he pushes his reading glasses - a recent acquisition - up on his nose, the small wrinkle on his forehead as he folds over the edge of the paper absent-mindedly. 

“Hey, old man,” Silver says, coming to the side of the bed, and Flint glances up. “How early do you have to get up tomorrow?”

He punctuates his words with a slide of his hand up Flint’s shin over the blanket, hopeful in the way that Flint hesitates - but then he just sighs.“Entirely too early,” Flint says, “Can we take a rain check?” 

Silver pulls his hand back, hides any real disappointment behind an exaggerated sigh. “Only because I still have onion breath,” he says, as Flint grimaces. “Courtesy of your cooking, mind you.” 

He turns away to take off his prosthetic, anyways, as Flint goes back to his newspaper. 

Flint still presses a kiss to the corner of Silver’s mouth before he turns off his light, lying down with a heavy exhale. Silver lies awake for far longer, though, listening to Flint breathe in and out, sleep just a little too elusive for him.

He punches his pillow before turning over, his back to Flint. He loves Flint. It’ll be fine. It _is _fine. 

\---

Five or six years ago, Silver had been in a hotel bar in Bogota. The job had been finished by the time the sun had started to set in the sky, and he had been looking forward to just having a few drinks before getting to the helicopter site. It was all nearly leisurely, since he was about to take a nice, long vacation from work with the bonus from this job, and had some time to kill before he even had to pack up again. 

Then the shouting had started. The rumors had started coming into the bar, as police and terrified civilians had swarmed the streets like - someone had just had to go and get assassinated, apparently.

Huh. He hadn’t remembered anyone putting out a hit on the man. But then again, there had been that time in California, after all, where he had finished a job in about thirty seconds from when the message popped up in his inbox - when it had just happened to be the banker sitting across from him in the train station. Basically, it’s all about the timing, in this line of work. 

This all means that people blow things up, flip cars and whatnot, given the sounds they’re all hearing. He really had been looking forward to that vacation, Silver thinks mournfully, as a nearby explosion makes the bar shake, and his glass tumbles to the ground. 

God damn it. He likes Bogota, but if he’s going to have to make a run for it, Bogota won’t like him too much, shortly. 

Some police officer is grabbing his arm, none too gently. Silver fixes his face in a wide-eyed look, to look like he understands every third word the man throws at him, and that’s it. 

Apparently, they’re looking for solo travelers, the type who would shoot a very important political figure and then try to get away with it - which is ridiculous, really, because he’s just trying to enjoy the aguardiente, and he had nothing to do with the man -_ really_. 

“I’m just resting my leg here for a minute,” Silver tries, even leaning forward and tapping on his prosthetic, to try that card. But the officer looks impassive at his attempt, still demanding to see his passport, and he sighs inside. 

Silver’s weighing his options here, as the officer starts to look like he’s considering dragging him downtown when there’s some more shouting. There’s another man coming into the bar. He’s being closely followed by two more police officers, who seem to be similar in their demands of his papers. The man looks just as trapped as Silver is, glancing around until - 

Their eyes meet across the bar. Silver doesn’t believe in love, but goddamn if it isn’t something like lightning that zips through him at the sight, as he blinks, and then stares. 

And really, isn’t that a good enough of an excuse for what he decides to do next? The man frowns, though, looking between the police officer and Silver. _Come on, come on _\- 

“He’s with me,” Silver says, a little too loud, and the man’s head turns right back to him with a scowl. He straightens up fully to point, and the police officer follows his finger - “That’s my friend - we took a detour from our tour guide, you see - “ 

The man blinks once, twice. Just as Silver’s worried that this is about to go incredibly, swiftly downhill, he can see the moment he decides to play along. The man shoves the hand off his arm, crossing the bar until he’s standing by Silver. 

Their eyes meet again, for the briefest moment, and he even tilts his head at Silver like he recognizes him. Like, _we’re doing this now_. Silver hides his own victorious smirk. 

“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish,” the man says, glancing between Silver and the man, “What’s happening?”

  
  
Silver blinks, quick, at the police officer, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder as he says, “We’re really sorry, sir - “

The police officer waves them off, barking something to the others. Silver waits until he’s stepping back to tighten his grip on the man’s shoulder. “We’d best retreat,” he says under his breath, and the man nods.

Silver leads them upstairs, to the second floor of the hotel. There are more explosions in the distance, that shake the walls of the stairwell as they go up. The man sticks close behind him, occasionally holding onto the wall as if to steady himself.

At least he doesn’t look like he’s about to start screaming. When Silver produces his key, and closes the door of his room between them and the chaos downstairs, the man finally says, “Thanks.”  


“No problem. Seemed like we could help each other out back there.” It’s as close to quiet as they could get, in here, both of them seem caught between listening at the door or stepping more safely inside the room.

The man seems to realize this, first, and he steps away, runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t actually have a room here,” he says. His eyes are a startling shade of green, framed by light blonde-red lashes the same color as the hair around his jaw, small dots of pigmentation all over his cheeks and forehead. Silver studies his face before he can help himself, as he asks, “If you don’t mind - “ 

  
  
“Luckily,” Silver interrupts, “I’m feeling generous.” He pushes back off the door, goes over to the tiny bar across the room. Making sure that the man can’t see the parts of the sniper rifle that he’s stashed in there, he offers, “Want a drink?”

“Sure,” the man says, after a moment. There aren’t any glasses, so Silver just brings back the bottle, as the man leans against the desk. He’s dressed down like Silver - a businessman on vacation, maybe? Independent tourist? 

Not one for formalities, Silver himself slides to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. After a moment, the man joins him, and Silver twists off the top of the tequila and takes a drink. From the sound of it, they’re going to be stuck in here for a while. 

“So what brings you to Bogota?” Silver says, offering him the bottle. The man takes a sip, his throat working.

“Work trip,” he says. “I’m an architect.”  


“They’re probably burning buildings out there, think your timing is shit.” 

  
  
“Not my area of expertise,” the man says, and Silver is caught off guard by a laugh.

  
“Fair enough.” He accepts the bottle back, and the man’s fingers brush against his ever so slightly, the warmth there sparking up his arm. 

Silver eyes him, not even repentant when the man notices, and there’s an answering ghost of a smile on his expression, then. “And you?” he asks. 

“Stock trading. I’m on vacation,” Silver says, as another distant explosion makes the floor tremble underneath them. He lets his hands splay out at his sides. “But something tells me I’m not going to make it to the Salt Cathedral after all.” 

“Really?”

“Why so surprised?” 

“I mean, you don’t look like any trader I’ve met.” 

“I like the money more than anything,” Silver says, curling his mouth up. “Can’t beat the benefits, either.”  


The man’s eyebrows stay raised, though, less in disbelief and more in interest, he realizes. “Have you ever been here before?” 

He really is handsome, Silver thinks idly. He’s always had a thing for freckles. “Second time. I like to travel.”

“Even when it’s like this?”

  
  
“Oh, especially like this,” Silver says, and lets his foot rolls out slightly, like the explosion had rocked it a little towards him. Call it a job well done today, or maybe the danger does something to him, after all.

His foot makes contact with the outside of the man’s thigh, and it stays pressed there with unmistakable intent. Significantly, the man doesn’t break eye contact as he snags the bottle once more, and now his little finger drags right alongside the outside of Silver’s palm. 

Silver watches his mouth curve into something like a smile, as he drinks from where the glass had been pressed against his own not a moment ago.

Maybe that vacation isn’t a bust.  


\---

Sometime later, when they’re about a third through the bottle, and Silver’s running his hands down the man’s back underneath his shirt, he realizes that the only sounds in his ears are heavy breathing, now, and the patter of rain. 

He breaks his mouth away from the man’s neck long enough to get out, “Hey - _hey - _ did the explosions stop?” 

  
  
The man stops tugging at Silver’s hair - a sensation he hadn’t quite expected to be so effective in getting him half-naked so quickly, but then again, this really has been a day of surprises - “Think so?” He ducks his head down, then, seemingly content to stay like this. “Not really - paying - attention, “ between presses of his mouth to Silver’s sternum.

Silver smirks. In a fluid motion, he curls his feet around the man’s calves, flipping them over. 

“What - “ 

“Shh.” 

They both listen for a moment, then, but the only sound is the rain coming down on the hotel roof, as the man’s hands tighten just a little on his thighs. No police knocking down the door, either. 

The man says, “Are you - “

“Very,” Silver finishes without much thought, and he rewards him with a roll of his own hips. He finally slides the shirt over the man’s head so that he can drink in the sight of him, the tiny tattoo on his arm, the way that the pink has traveled across his chest and neck to touch his cheeks. He says, honestly, “You’re beautiful.”

The man covers his face with an arm. “Are you really just going to stare at me?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Oh, and here I thought you wanted me to pay attention - “ and then the rain picks up even more.

“Hold on,” Silver says, and despite the protesting noise it gets, he gets up and off him, heading to the window. 

He opens the glass door leading out to the balcony, and there’s a rush of warm, damp air as the rain hits him, the answering low roar of thunder somewhere miles away. He’s always liked being out in storms - feel the hairs on his arms rise, the smell of ozone in the air - the rain dripping down over him like he’s as much as the atmosphere as anything else in the clouds. 

He can hear the bed creak behind him, and then there’s someone pressing along his back, a mouth dipping down to press at the curve of his shoulder.

Silver tilts his head to the side, enjoying the sensation. “You like the rain?”

Lips move right up against his skin. “Do you?” 

In response, he turns around, catching the man’s mouth with his. Silver drags his teeth along his lower lip, meeting the slide of his mouth against his, sliding his tongue against his, slow and dirty. The man slips his hands right back to his waist, holding him there, and the gesture surprisingly gentle and just ticklish enough that Silver laughs for a brief, surprised moment. 

He pulls the man outside just a little, so that the rain starts to fleck across his shoulders, too, so he can chase the water droplets down his jaw, that neck, down to his chest with his tongue. He continues this, mapping out the skin in front of him, until the man’s groaning, getting his fingers back into his hair, just barely stopping Silver from just dropping to his knees right there on the balcony. Silver blinks up at him, sees how the rain drips off the man’s face, looking like he’s been stunned or something, captivated by the sight of him. 

O_h, fuck, that’s romantic, isn’t it? That’s romantic as shit - fuck, what is _happening_ \- _

“The bed,” the man gets out, coaxing Silver closer to him, and back inside. He tugs a little at Silver’s unbuttoned trousers, “Come on - “ 

Silver dances back on his heels for a moment, though, as the tiny line of annoyance appears in the middle of the man’s brow. “You going to make me?” he says, teases with a quick kiss that drags along his mouth.

“Pneumonia,” the man informs him, “Or the bed. Your choice.“ Silver laughs again, delighted at this strange man and this strange place, right into his mouth, as the man seems to forget any consternation in favor of sucking Silver’s tongue right into his mouth. 

They tug each other back into the room, and the man’s leading them, and somewhere between the window and the bed, Silver’s trousers are finally stripped off of him and left in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Only when they get back to the bed, Silver shoves him a little too hard. Since the man’s hands refuse to stop clutching at him, they’re both falling back, hard enough onto the mattress so it slides against the floor, and the bed frame hits the wall with a loud thud. 

The man curses as he hits his head on the frame bouncing back, as Silver gasps out, “Sorry, sorry - “ though he seems to be quickly forgiven, given the biting kisses pressed to his mouth as they finally get their hands back on each other, any grievance quickly soothed. They forget about the rain or anything else for a long while. 

\---

In the morning, there’s smoke curling up into the distance, grey against the pink clouds on the horizon.

The window’s still open, and the air has the distinct kind of chill that alerts him to where he is. Silver blinks to clear the sleep out of his eyes, then turns around to meet green eyes that are already open, next to him on the pillow, illuminated from the soft light. 

His mouth tastes like something awful, but he lets the man press his thumb against the seam of his lips, silently focused on this gentle pressure. He should be clearing out, or maybe figuring out the best way how he’s going to get to the helicopter - 

“I never asked you your name,” the man murmurs, sudden in the silence. He looks like he’s waiting for Silver to make the next move, a little resigned, and Silver finds he doesn’t like that look as much on him. 

Silver considers his options once again. He could lie. He should leave here, never see him again - but now the man’s thumb is stroking along the side of his face, down his cheekbone, far too intimate for the lack of what they know about each other at this point. There’s something to be said about a different kind of adventure, after all - is it that unbelievable to just go for something like this? 

It feels right. Like the rain sliding down his face, like the sensation spreading through his chest - 

So, for not the first time, Silver makes the decision that doesn’t quite make the most sense. “Silver,” he says, or he offers. “My name is John Silver.”

“James Flint,” Flint answers with a slowly growing smile, and what a start, isn’t it, to their story?

\---

It goes something like this: Silver tosses the sniper rifle into a gutter down the block from the hotel while Flint’s in the shower. He then throws a lot of money on the ticket counter at the airport the next afternoon, to get a seat on the same flight that Flint’s on to Madrid. He finds out the story behind the tiny crescent tattoo on his upper arm while they’re somewhere above Martinique. 

The next few weeks are a haze - and that’s not even just about the sex, though Silver thinks that he might as well propose right then and there in a post-orgasmic haze starting about three days in - with a kind of joy, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, as he gets to know Flint. As they become something, as Flint shares with him everything about his life - why he became an architect, his family, his dreams and fears, how he likes his coffee. How Flint, for all that he appears unshakeable and gruff, he cares about what others think of him. He’s got a soft spot for animals and books, some slightly weird habits born of chivalry, and for all the quick, biting retorts when Silver can’t resist riling him up, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

(The irony, in retrospect, is not lost on him). 

Silver falls in love with him during the break-neck velocity of their relationship, because what else could he ever do? 

They hurtle towards marriage, because they’re both the kind of men who recognize that when life gives you something this good, you hold onto it with both hands. Flint’s a bit of a romantic who definitely feels a lot better about moving in with Silver six weeks into their relationship once he puts a ring on his finger. Silver’s more than happy to indulge him in this, if a piece of paper from city hall means that Flint is there when he wakes up, to go grocery shopping with him, to get snippy about the best way to do dishes. Because it’s _nice_, and it’s maybe the first nice thing that Silver’s had in his life - which, oh boy, he’s definitely not going to dive into as a thought. 

Objectively, he should’ve realized that it would be more complicated. With the life he leads, the secrets it requires - there’s a cost to that. But if the cost turns out to be idle thoughts on _what if_, well, Silver knows that that’s something he’d be willing to pay ten times over. 

As long as Flint is happy - he’s happy.

\---

“So how often do you have sex?”

  
  
Silver looks like he’s stalling. Flint sighs. “Like - in the past week?”

  
  
“However you want to count it.”

There’s a drawn-out silence. Flint tries to remember - then tries to look like he’s not trying to remember. 

Silver says, “Counting the weekend?” 

“Sure.” 

“Hm,” Silver says. “We - Flint?” 

“What?” 

The therapist makes another note. 

\---

In the company building, Flint chooses to take the elevator, because his ribs still ache from yesterday. He likes a job done well as much as anyone else - though in his case, sometimes that means surprise grenades, and impact against sandy, rocky ground, leaving him with the kind of bruises that he would never be able to explain to Silver. 

Luckily, he’d had this trip as an excuse. There’s only so many gym boxing accidents that he can use as an excuse, after all. It’s better than that time he went to Paris and the mark had managed to get a wire around his neck, and he had to carry around some heavy-duty concealer with him for two weeks or otherwise wear turtlenecks in July. Or that time in Aspen, when the helicopter had to drop him off on the roof so he wouldn’t be late for their anniversary dinner, and he just had to hope that Silver had been too preoccupied with the menu to notice his rushed, bumpy arrival. Or the time when they were in Montreal - 

“Morning,” Madi says when he walks in, falling in stride with him as he heads to the main office section. He’s glad to see her - it’s been a while, with their schedules being especially separate recently. She’s wearing dark sunglasses indoors, and Madi is just one of those people who can pull that look off - and not only look like they’re supposed to be worn like that, but in a way that he can respect. 

“LA go well?” she asks him. 

“Clean and done, thank god. Chicago?”

  
  
“It turned out to be a Bristol-type situation,” Madi says rather mildly, and Flint hides his wince. “You’re walking oddly, aren’t you?”

“Ribs,” he answers shortly, and Madi makes a noise like commiseration. “Are those updated files in?” 

  
  
“Eleanor finished them this morning,” Madi says, handing him a file. He’s admittedly a little old school and likes having the overviews and contracts for the jobs in hard copy - to be promptly burned after reading - to review before he does any research of his own. Madi’s the same, though, with her own files tucked into the briefcase that’s almost always at her side. “These seem like they’d be suitable for you - one’s later this week if you finish up tonight with no problem.”

“Thanks, I should be able to do both. Are you here for long?” 

“Finally headed back home for the first time in four weeks.”

“Nothing like those long missions, right?” Flint tucks the files under his arm as they round the corner. He’s got several he has to plan for, in the near future. “How’s your girlfriend?” 

“Waiting in New York,” Madi says, with a wry twist. “Your husband?” 

“Good,” Flint says, “Busy with work.”

“Hopefully not for long.”  


They never share too much about their partners. Madi’s probably his closest friend, and yet, he can’t. There’s honor among assassins, of course, but there’s an unspoken line - that personal lives should be kept separate, for everyone’s happiness and continued safety. Just in case.

Flint makes it to his office and stops in front of the door. “Stay safe,” he says to her, though they both know it’s more than little funny to say such things. 

“Likewise,” Madi says, sending him a smile before she continues on her way. 

Inside the office, Flint sits down at the desk. He puts in his passcode and fingerprint scan to get the monitor to rise out from the wall, then turns back to the papers. 

He flips open the file folder for the longer job first, scanning the page - some young tech whiz selling data to a foreign government, the usual story with that, and the usual preferred method to take him out of the picture. Flint flips the pages, memorizing the photos, the route plans, the specs for his cell phone and car.

It should be an easy one for him. He gets himself a ticket onto the next flight headed down south, makes the right calls to get supplies waiting for him there. Florida’s not his favorite place to go, but at least it’s paying well. Plus, he has that other job tonight that he can take care of before he goes, so that will be another payment he can expect. 

He should take Silver to Florida, maybe. He thinks he’d like the beaches, and the sunlight, and Flint would like the sight of Silver relaxing in the sun very much, sunburn be damned. Maybe this weekend, before the contracts start coming in. Something about the winter really makes people want to kill each other, he muses for a moment - it’s always their busiest season. 

Unbidden, his mind strays to the session at the therapist’s. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Silver had snagged the consultation, said, _like a check-up_. Healthy couples talked about their feelings - and maybe they went once, decided it wasn’t for them, that was good, right? That they made the effort, and there wasn’t anything significant enough to warrant a return trip? 

Right. He would know if there was a problem.

He would. 

Flint forces himself to focus on the words in front of him. _The mark is suspicious of authority figures (see Table B for surveyed behavioral traits indicative of - _

\---

If he would ever let it, Flint thinks it would bother him much more, that he’s hid his job from Silver all these years. He loves his job, but he loves Silver too - and the idea of giving up either, well, it’s not something he cares to consider at all. 

Especially Silver. The idea of losing him - 

Flint knows he has his flaws. He cares too much about appearances, there are some peculiarities he carries with him from his Navy days, and he hates waking up early. He has a temper. He can’t sleep with more than one pillow touching him, and he makes his fair share of snide comments that were probably unnecessary, especially to his husband. 

Silver knows all of that, and he chooses to stay married to him. He’s the one person who can drive Flint truly insane, and Flint loves that man so impossibly much that he’d let him, too, because he can’t see his life with Silver in it. 

But if Silver were to find out that Flint likes that he knows he can strangle two people at once, if need be? That he can throw a knife with deadly accuracy at thirty feet - and he can sleep perfectly fine the same night? 

He’s not a psychopath or anything, he’s just not above killing people for money. He doesn’t want Silver to know, because that’s not exactly something that came up in their vows. (Nor should it, probably). 

So, yes, he’d rather Silver get bored of him, grow tired of his strange ways, or anything other than learning why exactly Flint can’t take off his shirt in front of him sometimes. Or why Flint’s always headed off to obscure meetings for his architectural skills. Or why Flint insists on going to the gym even on the weekends - and _no_, it’s less for any aesthetic value, more to be able to lug around a duffle bag filled to the brim with ammunition at a moment’s notice. 

Well. He does have a husband a decade younger than him, too. Maybe it’s a little bit in order to keep up with that kind of energy.

So he can never tell Silver about that part of his life. It’s a truth he’s accepted, resigned himself to, and even preferred. Silver looks at him and he probably sees the man that Flint is in another life, in some alternate universe - one where he’s bookish and safe, and not one where he kills people on a regular basis. Silver will never be in any danger, and Flint intends to keep it that way. 

(If only he _knew_.) 

\---

Silver waits until the customer fully exits the shop until he sidles in. “Max,” he says, casually, “Is that a new eyeliner you’re trying out?”

  
  
“It is not,” Max says, “And I do not care for whatever you’re about to ask me for.” She looks back down at her computer, even when Silver approaches her work station with a big smile on his face.

People who come in here looking for semi-legal computer help, ones who don’t know what they need, are often perplexed that Max is the person they need to talk to. With her diamond-studded fingers and impeccable designer clothes, Silver has seen her hack into the NSA without a drop of sweat on her temple.

Max had been a decent assassin once, too, until she had gotten some girlfriend who had apparently made enough money to keep Max happy in her lavish lifestyle and computer business. She also happens to be the best friend a contract killer like himself could ever ask for, and luckily for him, she’s in a good mood today. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Silver says, “Probably far too easy for your exquisite skills, but you see - “ 

“So you want to waste my time?” Max looks dismissively at the laptop in his hands - remnants of which he hopes will help him get a name to finish up this job. “What is that?” 

“ -I trust you, in this wretched world, and also there’s a chance that it is indeed nearly impossible of a task,” Silver says. He tilts the laptop, shows her the charred surface underneath. “You see - “ 

“It looks like,” Max says, “You need a new computer.”

  
  
“It has sentimental value.” Silver watches as her eyes light up at the challenge she sees, making sure the broken motherboard is incredibly visible. “I can send over your payment right now - ?”

“Obviously,” Max says, already looking like she’s working on it in her mind, “You need this as soon as possible, I presume.”

“By tomorrow?” Silver asks. She reaches for the laptop, before shooing him away.

“We’ll see.” 

Silver decides that he’ll take that. “You’re my favorite,” he tells her, and Max doesn’t even deign to roll her eyes at him as he waltzes right back out, already prying off the back case. 

On the way back, his phone dings. A text message - a name and location. A few messages later, the pay - not half-bad. 

Somewhat on a whim, Silver decides to take the extra job. Flint won’t be back until late tonight, anyways, and he figures they could use the extra chunk of change in the meantime. He pockets his phone again, whistling, and sticks his hand into the street to get a taxi.

He has the thing tonight, anyway, that’ll keep him busy until then. He’s never liked coming back to that big, empty house by himself.

\---

The one regrettable part of his job is that sometimes, he needs to be _charming_. He needs to convince people that he’s not a threat, that he’s supposed to be somewhere, all the while being in places where he’s definitely not supposed to be and there to kill someone. 

Flint’s acting skills, well, they leave much to be desired, for an assassin. What he does have in his arsenal is an uncannily good read on most people, and the ability to improvise with those he can’t. That, and making weapons out of nearby objects, if need be. 

In the hotel, he buys himself a martini. The other trick with these kinds of missions is that it’s a lot easier to get it over with if you have alcohol in your system, he finds. This was supposed to be Jack’s job, only he had to go and convince Anne to go cash in that favor from Portugal she had against him. 

And so there he is, in a too-tight suit, waiting for his opportunity. 

The mark’s wife is sitting on one of the couches, her white mink coat bigger than her entire body. She’s with some friend, and Flint waits until the friend leaves to make his approach. 

He downs his drink, and he goes over. 

“Oh,” the wife says, her eyes going round when he slides into the now-empty seat next to her, “Excuse me - “  


“Forgive me,” Flint says, keeping his accent plain, easy to understand, as he says, “I just knew that a beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t be sitting alone, ma’am.” 

“Why - thank you - “

  
  
“I don’t mean to be too forward, I just noticed you and had to say something.” Flint dips his head, lets the tiniest bashful expression come across. “I hope that’s all right for me to tell you that.”

“You’re very kind, but - you see - “ 

“Your husband,” Flint finishes, putting a wry smile on his face, glancing down at her hands. “I see now. He’s a very lucky man, ma’am - coming to take you to dinner, I suppose?” 

“He’s been working upstairs for a while now,” the woman says, with the tiniest hint of annoyance crossing over her features. Flint keeps his eyes on her as she says, “Well… I don’t suppose… you’d care for a drink?”

  
  
“If you would let me buy one for you,” Flint says smoothly, and the woman laughs, a little nervously, but her eyes are still on him as her hand coming up to the front of her throat. “What would you like?”

He flags down a waiter, as the woman glances between him and her friend, who seems to be flirting with some other man at the bar. “Oh, I - “ 

“Please,” Flint says, leaning forward, and her eyes slip down for a moment. “It would be my honor.” 

She seems nervous, and more than a little flustered at his attention. He’d feel bad, only the reason that woman’s wearing such a pristine fur coat is that her husband is the head of a major drug ring that’s killed one too many people for someone high up to be not quite comfortable enough about it all. 

That, and she’s been photographed leaving the hotel rooms of several key government officials to help cover it all up if his sources are to believed. Flint can respect that kind of hustle, so really, he hopes that she makes it out of this night not too badly traumatized. 

But she’s not the mark - not yet. So Flint orders them some champagne, and he continues to wait. 

\---

He waits until there’s the perfect kind of lull, gauging the sound on the other side of the wall, before walking down a bit and leaning heavily into the ajar door. 

“Oh,” Silver slurs, stumbling in a little, “Is this - this isn’t the bathroom!”

  
  
The three men around the table - typical gangsters, all bearing the same haircut and thematic tattoos, scowl at him. There’s some bodyguard at the far end, who approaches him. One of the guys starts to sneer. “Would someone get this guy out of here?”

“Oh,” Silver says, “I _love_ poker - you guys playing?” 

  
  
“Private game.”

Silver shrugs off the bodyguard’s grasp and leans heavily against the empty chair. “But this - this is empty, isn’t it? I could just - ah, there we go - “ 

  
  
“Lucky’s sitting there,” one of them tells him tersely. “Now get the fuck - “

“Oh, come _on_,” Silver says, and with great difficulty, he pulls a wad of cash out of his very nice, very expensive jacket, and he sees them all look at it. “You don’t want - come on, you don’t want to _lose_?” He even pulls out a hiccup for emphasis. 

  
  
“Pal, you’re drunker than a skunk.”

  
  
“Oh,” Silver says, “You’re right - I should drink some more. Give you guys a fighting chance, eh?”

And who can resist a challenge? Not these men, certainly.

\---

Two glasses later, and the woman’s got her shiny pink nails digging into his arm just a little as she laughs, both of them staggering to the elevator - her, possibly genuinely, him, with added emphasis. If the surveillance is correct, then this should be easy, now that he’s convinced her - and about to convince him. 

They’re staying in a penthouse suite, the kind that only drug lords can afford. “George,” the woman trills, as she lets them both in with her high-security key card, with a knowing nudge to Flint’s side, “I brought a _gift_. Just look at him!”

  
  
The man at the desk across the room rises. He eyes him, and Flint lets a slow smile come across his face in response, a little-put on like he knows what he’s there for, and he knows that he knows. The man relaxes, and pulls his hand away from the panic button that he knows is sitting just on the other side of the table.

“You know,” he says, looking at Flint and then his wife, in interest, “This isn’t what I have in mind for tonight, dear.”

  
“Oh, come on,” the woman says, “You’ve got to relax more - isn’t that right, Benjamin? Benjamin thinks you should relax, too.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Flint drawls, and he leans against the doorframe. “Now, your wife says you’ve been working too hard - and that’s a shame.”  


\---

Two rounds in, and Silver has them all roaring with laughter. 

“And then,” Silver says with mock intensity, gripping the back of one of their necks, “Just like this, I’m holding him - and I go, bud, either we’re gonna have an issue, or you’d best be buying me dinner before this goes down if the way you’re looking at me - “

“You’re full of shit,” the guy laughs, pulling back as if to look at Silver’s cards, “There’s no way you won that game like that - “ 

“Hey,” Silver says, “You look here - you’ve got my money clip, you asshole, and my ole ball and chain got that engraved for me - “ 

“ - who the fuck carries around a money clip anymore - “ 

“Oh, Frank, just you wait, I’m gonna win this one too, and then buy your mom a nice steak dinner - “

“ - absolutely full of shit - “

In his staged lack of sobriety, Silver hears the door behind him open. The music from the bar outside trickles through, but the man of the hour closes the door just as quickly. 

With a generously slow movement, Silver turns his head around, puts his arm over the back of the chair. “Oh - what do we have here?”

  
  
“Bad luck, pal,” one of his new poker buddies says. “Lucky’s here.”

  
  
“Oh, you’re Lucky?” Silver asks innocently, looking right at the man.

“Yeah, and you’re in his chair, remember?” 

“Yeah,” the man says, frowning at him. “And who - “  


With his arm still tucked into the inside of his coat, Silver fires twice. The bullets go right into the man’s chest - and Lucky tumbles to the ground, dead before he can say anything else.

There’s a beat of absolute silence, as the men process the sight, slow to react to this change in events. But it’s more than enough for him. Silver turns around, whip-fast, and he fires three more bullets. One for each man at the table, close range - and he’s diving to the ground as the bodyguard fires back at him, flipping up the table to shield him, swearing as he lands a little too hard on the ground. 

Poker chips go flying everywhere. He knows that the thrum of bass from the music outside muffles the sound of the guns going off to anyone outside of this room, but he’ll have to be fast about it. His prosthetic is a little twisted on its socket, but Silver grits his teeth, ignores the pain, as he throws one of the chairs at the man.

The bodyguard dodges, but he stops firing. He takes a chance, tilts his gun just a little around the table - and Silver fires once again.

There’s a loud thump, and the bodyguard goes down, hands sprawled out on the ground. 

After a moment, Silver rises, makes sure that everyone actually is dead, before he scoops back up his money, plus the money clip. It had been a second-anniversary gift from Flint - and really, who does need a money clip? 

_Guess it came in handy here. _

“Huh,” Silver says, and he leans forward, picks up one of the dead man’s cards, now splattered in a little blood. “You might’ve actually won with those, you bastard!”

\---

It progresses quickly from there. Flint’s kissing the wife on the bed - which is round, in the center of the room, and very tacky considering it's thousands of dollars a night to be in its vicinity -when the husband comes up behind him, starts pulling off his shirt. Flint feigns interest as the mark kisses his neck, ready to turn around and bring him more into the mix, as the wife pulls his shirt out of his trousers. 

“Oh - _Benjamin _\- “ 

He really should have picked a better cover name. Flint has an idea, then, and he quickly grabs the woman’s scarf from where it was discarded against the pillow. He turns around on the bed, his shirt fully unbuttoned now, and he gives a teasing smile up at the man. 

“Let me,” Flint breathes out, and the man glances between him and the scarf, taut in his hands. “Come on - I want to see her on you, then I’ll blow you, while you can’t even touch me.” 

  
  
That works about as well as he had hoped - the man’s pupils go wide, and nods, quickly getting on the bed. The wife leans back, obviously interested in the proceedings, as Flint loops it around his wrists, tying them firmly as he gets up and rises up and off.

“Where - “ 

“Shhh,” Flint says, putting his finger against the man’s mouth. “Now, how do you want me?”  


“I want - “ 

  
  
“I was asking her,” Flint says, dragging his eyes from the man to the woman on the bed. He rises, slowly and carefully, coming around the bed until he’s behind the man. “Ma’am?”

  
  
The woman seems caught between looking between the two of them, clearly unsure of where she wants this to go. Flint drags his fingers up the man’s arm, feels him shudder against him, as he lightly pressed just underneath his ears, says, “Like this?”

The man hisses a little, “_Yes _\- “ 

  
Flint ducks his head down, bites his earlobe, squeezes a little more. “I said, do you like this?”

“Damn it - _yes _\- “ 

“I don’t think you’ll like this, though,” Flint says right into his ear, and then he’s twisting, until there’s a clean snap. 

The man falls to the floor. 

Then the wife screams. Already, there’s someone pounding at the door, probably because she’s screaming so fucking loudly - but Flint wastes no time. 

He hurries to the far side of the room, where beyond the large windows, the city skyline beckons. In the lining of his suit jacket, there are two clips, connected by impossibly strong wire. 

He hooks one onto the desk, uses his elbow to smash the window. Then he’s holding onto the other end, and rappelling down the side of the building - all before the woman even remembers about the panic button in the room, the one that'll unlock the door. 

In and out.

\---

In the driveway, Silver pulls his ring out of the cupholder. He slides it on, makes sure that the tiny spot of blood on his shirt is no longer visible, and he opens the car door.

Flint’s is already in the garage, taking the prime spot. Silver sighs, making sure his windows are closed - one of these days, they really need to remodel the place, so that both of them can park indoors. 

“Flint?” Silver calls into the house. The kitchen light is on, and he slides off his jacket and throws it on the back of the couch - he’ll deal with the wrinkles at a later time. “That you?”

  
  
“No,” Flint shouts back, “Just someone who broke in and decided to cook!”

Silver silently pulls out his gun, putting it in the safe behind the painting in the foyer. “You cook better than my husband,” he says, covering up the low click that the painting makes when he puts it back up against the wall. “Something smells way too good - and you’re early.” 

“Asshole,” Flint says, but in that fond way of his. Silver rounds the corner and sees him in front of the oven. He’s even got a towel over his shoulder, glancing up as he chops an onion. “How was your day?” 

  
  
“Eh, not too bad,” Silver says, kissing his cheek as he goes by. “Took care of a new client, pretty easy. You?”

“Had a consult with this husband-wife team today,” Flint says, scraping off the cutting board into the pan he’s using, “Don’t think they got anything they wanted from it, though.”

“Shame. I’d be dying to work with you, baby.” 

  
  
Flint snaps his towel at Silver, who just ducks, grinning. “Come on. Set the table, will you?”

  
  
“Ooh, a fancy dinner - “ and Silver’s unable to dodge the next towel snap, hitting him in the arm. “All right! Wow, are those the steaks I like?”

  
  
“Yeah.”

  
  
“You’re buttering me up for something, aren’t you?”

  
  
“No,” Flint retorts, as Silver collects silverware from the drawer. Then, he says, “Actually - I was thinking that maybe we should take a trip.”

  
  
“Yeah? Where were you thinking?”

  
  
“Maybe somewhere in Florida,” Flint says, and Silver turns a curious eye to him. “You like the beach, right?”

  
  
“Yeah, but you get sunburned,” Silver points out, and his husband turns around to the stovetop. He frowns. “Okay. I guess - when were you thinking?”

  
  
Flint looks like he’s focused on stirring. “Maybe this weekend. I’ll be back Friday, but I could take off Monday, fly out Saturday - ?“

Silver sighs. “I have to travel by the time you get back,” he says, apologetically. He’ll have to chase down the name that Max sends him, and who knows how long that will take. “The weekend after that?” 

“Can’t.” Flint turns back, and his face is flat. “There are some projects coming up I have to head, and they might call me in on short notice.”

  
  
“Damn.”

“It was just an idea.” 

  
  
Silver tries to meet his eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah. Just a long day,” Flint says, and he finally meets Silver’s eyes. He looks tired, or maybe it’s just the overhead light playing tricks on his face. Silver takes a step closer, but then Flint’s turning to check on the oven, and he stops. 

“Okay,” Silver repeats, feeling off-kilter, still. 

\---

That night, when Flint’s in bed and he’s just checking up on some work emails (in reality, scrolling down some inane internet quizzes while refreshing the balance on his hidden bank account), the text comes through. 

Max sends him a name and an address. Silver frowns, reading it - some guy from Silicon Valley is selling info to the Russian government, and now someone wants him to quit it. He’s scheduled to be doing some fake-inspirational event in Florida, where he’s driving from Tallahassee down into the state forest to visit his aunt. 

Florida. Looks like he’ll be going there, after all.

For a moment, Silver wishes he actually was into stock trading or some other low-stress job. The kind of life that means he gets to come home to Flint every day, and agree to go to Florida to get drunk on some secluded beach - maybe tease out Flint’s exhibitionist streak, maybe buy terribly tacky tee-shirts that pile up in their drawers, until they move into some fussy retirement home at ninety, where Flint purposefully clips his non-prosthetic ankle with his wheelchair.

  
Honestly, he’s not even sure he’ll make it to ninety, at this rate. He’s been shot three times in his life, once when he was married to Flint, and they were all incidents that he wishes he could know were never going to happen again.

But on the bright side - the notification pops up on his computer screen. An easy forty grand, popping up in his account, all for a game of poker and some bullets. 

He’ll just have to find the time to go to Florida or wherever else with Flint eventually. 

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part II: sadder AND sexier, ur welcome (exactly one bit of dialogue directly stolen from the movie too)
> 
> part III coming soon!!! hope you are all staying healthy 💕

"Right," the therapist says, "Now, the way these one-on-one sessions usually go - "

"You want me to tell you everything that I think is wrong with our marriage," Silver says. "You get Flint in the room, next, ask him what he thinks. Then we come together, and - let's see - we play a game of I-know-what-you-know-but-does-he-know-what-you-know-that-I-know?'

The therapist blinks once, then twice. "...how about you just tell me - "

"What I think is going wrong with our marriage?" Silver idly scratches his knee. "Think I prefer talking about the sex stuff, thanks."

\---

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck, or maybe it's another one of those awful bugs again. Flint keeps stock-still underneath the layer of camouflage, either way, keeping his eye on the scope.

The mark should be here within ten minutes, but he knows better than to expect it. Even if you could get the most thorough intelligence in the world on a mark, people are still notorious for breaking their activity patterns at times most inconvenient for their assassins. Any potential issue that could come up, you know it'll eventually happen to you. 

Which is why he sees the Jeep long before it pulls up, coming from the opposite direction. Flint drags his eye away from the scope, then back, to make sure this isn't some swampy Floridian mirage. 

But the sight of the bright green car, zipping down the empty highway, persists. It brakes with a loud screech several hundred meters south of him, and lo and behold, right over the charges. 

The open computer beside him buzzes, warning him that the vehicle has crossed the charge boundaries. The countdown commences. Flint grimaces, watching from afar as the car door pops open. He needs to get rid of him before there's a much bigger problem. 

He loops the tiny wire back around his ear, turns the dial to the frequency that'll get to someone back at headquarters. "Odyssey calling in," Flint says, "There's a live stone in the road blocking the construction. Over." 

"Copy," some voice in his ear replies. "On top of the new pavement? Over." 

"Negative. Need maintenance, possibly more hazards put up - " Flint cuts himself off, though, when he manages to see a dot appear on the horizon. "Project manager now in sight, Odyssey out," he says rapidly before tearing the earpiece back out. He'll have to do this himself, it looks like. 

The Jeep-owning dumbass appears to be pissing just off the shoulder of the road, obscured mostly by his own car. Flint drags his gaze back to the approaching SUV through the scope - the car will be in range in under a minute, and he needs to figure out a way to get the witness out of here before it gets ugly. 

The alert buzzes again as the second car gets close. Flint concentrates, now. Maybe if he can get the shot off just as the SUV gets into his range, he can make it look like some car accident, scare off the other car before the charges go off. He looks back at the first car, squinting and the sun, and he sees a glare, from a large piece of metal. 

Two more complications. The first, the dumbass with the Jeep now appears to be armed with a missile launcher he dragged out of the trunk, the sun glinting off of it as he aims it towards the oncoming SUV. 

Which is shitty on the level of professional courtesy - he hates when jobs get double-booked. Mostly because that means either that someone in his department fucked up, or there's some freelance hit person who might as well try to take Flint out while they're all here if he shoots now and gives away his location. 

But more importantly - Flint can see the person better, now that he's stepped away from the car. His features are covered, but the bandanna and the hat don't quite obscure the dark hair. Nor the prosthetic leg. Nor the floral-printed shorts that look awfully familiar - 

There's no way. It's a coincidence. Because otherwise, that would mean - 

Flint manages to pull himself together long enough to look back at the SUV, now definitely in range. He swears under his breath as the countdown reaches ten seconds - five - 

Four - 

Three - 

  
\---

Silver is in the middle of taking a moment to admire his new toy when the road explodes around him.

He dives to the ground, down below his car to avoid any shrapnel. He supposes he's lucky that the launcher in his hands didn't literally explode in his face, but this does mean that he's missed something critical for this job - and fuck, he knows what it probably is, too. He hates double bookings. 

There's a roar of an engine, and Silver half crawls, half drags the launcher along with him to the front of the car. It sounds like there were charges, which mean either he was set up, or that there's someone else here waiting for the SUV. The car still approaches, though, now at a panic-y speed trying to get away from whoever's trying to destroy this stretch of highway. Silver takes aim with the rocket launcher once again, risking standing up to do so. 

Bullets rain just above his head, and Silver lets out a shout. He drops to the ground as carefully as he can, using the rearview window to get a look at whoever's shooting at him. It doesn't take long to spy the suspiciously flat part of the hill, nor the smallest glint of light off something up there - bingo. 

Silver takes aim at the section of the hill, and he fires. 

  
\---

"I mean, sure, there are things that we do that irritate each other," Flint says. "He buys these garden gnomes whenever he sees them in a store, even though he knows I think they're hideous and tacky."

"I meant, ah, more along the lines of secrets," the therapist says, and he shifts in his seat. "You don't necessarily need to tell your partner everything going in your life, but a lot of people find that when they omit things from their partner, it builds to a place of hurt, that they can't trust other, more important things." 

"Well, I've thrown away three gnomes so far," Flint says blandly. "If he asks me about them, it's not like I'd lie, though. We're not like that." 

  
\---

  
It's impossible. And yet - 

His clothes are a bit burnt from the explosion, but he considers himself lucky. As Flint drives away, he's a few miles down the road when he pulls himself together to pull out his cell phone.

Madi picks up. "Are you compromised?"

"No," Flint says, then hesitates. "Maybe. I need a personal favor." 

"The job?"

"Someone else came up," Flint says. "I need to know if anyone from our agency was assigned."

"I know there wasn't," Madi says, and there's soft sound like she's closing the door. "You think there was a rogue hit?"

"We were after the same target before he found out I was there," Flint admits. "I had to leave behind the site, but I just - do you know of anyone in the area who might've interfered?" 

"I can set up some alerts. Are you going to track them there?" 

"They're going to be gone before I can do so," Flint says, "But I have an idea of who it could be."

"Someone we know about, you mean?" 

  
  
The rational part of Flint's brain is telling him an answer that he absolutely cannot believe, so he doesn't answer her. "I'm headed back up," Flint rasps into the phone, with a sudden tightness in his throat. "Let me know if you come across anything."

  
\---

  
The next day, he arrives at Max's in search of answers. "I need to figure out who this came from," Silver announces, dropping the burnt hard drive - or whatever it is, he's really not good at telling metal bits apart when they're not guns - on the desk. 

But Max just uses a pencil to push it delicately back towards him. "Did you not come in and demand my help once already this week?"

"This is important," Silver says, and he looks around to make sure it's just the two of them, Max's eyes following him as he does so. "Someone else was on my job yesterday - someone good because they managed to get away from a rocket. I blew up their hideout, but I think - I think they might've been able to ID me." 

Max looks disdainfully down at the drive, then back up at him. "I won't do it." 

"Name your price, and you'll have it - " 

"No, I mean I won't," Max repeats. "That kind of drive, that's something only a few people would have - they didn't even bother obscuring the barcode, see - and those are the kind of people I don't want to cross at all." She stops, looks at the piece of metal then back up at him. "Are you sure you don't know whose it is?" 

"Positive," Silver says. "Unless Jack broke his deep cover for a relatively low-paying hit for kicks." 

Now Max looks at him with a too-serious expression. "You said they identified you?" 

"They could have. I didn't exactly expect someone to be staring down at me the whole time, but I had my face covered." Silver looks her right in the eye. "Please. As a favor to me." 

Slowly, Max takes the piece. "Only because you helped Anne that time," she says, warning. After a moment of intense contemplation that Silver knows better than to interrupt, she types something into her computer, and Silver tries not to hold his breath as she studies the screen. 

"The chip was delivered to 600 Nassau," Max says, setting the metal down. "But that's all the information I'm willing to get out of this." 

Maybe the charges took out his hearing. "Excuse me?" 

"You know it?" 

"I think I do," Silver says. Maybe he's mistaken. Maybe - 

But that afternoon, he finds himself staring up at 600 Nassau Place, a medium-sized skyscraper in the middle of downtown. Silver scans the address list from inside the lobby, hoping that he's wrong. 

His eyes fall on Floor 5, James Flint, architect.

  
\---

  
Madi calls him back when he lands back in New York. Flint picks up immediately, steering his suitcase past a few slow-moving tourists at the airport. 

"I don't have any names for you," Madi says first, as he presses the phone to his ear. "But someone - I'm guessing they used some part recovered from the scene, and they looked us up and came across the firm's address. I don't know how much they know."

"How did that happen?"

"Our IT department is outdated," Madi says, clearly displeased with this. "Normally, that limited information wouldn't be helpful, but if they knew that they were looking for one of us..." 

He can fill in the blanks, as she trails off. Can you find out who searched?"

"Not exactly. But the people who would have access to those databases, there are only a few who could've made that search." 

Flint closes his eyes. He steps off to the side, past the line of taxis out front. "Are there any local names? Tri-state area." 

Madi types something, then says, "Just two. One's decommissioned, the other's in - "

Hoboken, Flint thinks before he can stop himself, as Madi says it out loud. "Thank you," he says, the words sounding distant to his own ears, and he leans hard against the wall at his back. 

  
\---

  
They had gotten married only a few weeks into their relationship. Flint woke up early one morning, and as he watched Silver's eyelids twitch in some dream, he knew, with a sort of bone-deep certainty that Silver was that kind of person to him. 

It hadn't been like that with Thomas and Miranda. With them, everything had been so new and exhilarating, and he had fallen hopelessly in love early on but didn't know it until much, much later. On bad days, he wonders about a world in which he was honest to himself about how he felt with them. He would have had more time with them. Maybe, they would be alive. 

But then he wouldn't have met Silver. 

"Stop," Silver says, without opening his eyes, "I can feel you staring."

"Marry me," Flint says in return.

Much later, when Silver had confirmed that Flint had been deadly serious, and after an extended celebration of their upcoming nuptials in that bed, they had gotten up to figure out how to exactly get married. 

It was quickly decided that a courthouse wedding would be fine, maybe a dinner out to celebrate. It does, however, require that they find some witnesses.

"I don't really have anyone to invite," Flint admits while Silver's looking up table reservations. He's idly running his fingers through Silver's hair as he adds, "My parents are dead, and I don't have any siblings."

"You've got that co-worker you're fond of, right? Invite her." 

"Sure," Flint says, after a moment. He can't actually invite Madi, of course, but he'll just have to hire an actor to stand in for her. He feels a little bad about it, but as long as Silver is there standing across from him at the courthouse, he can't find it in himself to be bothered too much about it all. 

He bends down to press a kiss to Silver's earlobes - he loves those goddamn ears. "What about you?" 

"I was thinking about inviting my sister," Silver says. At Flint's raised eyebrow, he looks sheepish. "Not like, a sister-sister, but as close to it. Haven't seen her in a while, but I think she'd like that."

"Okay," Flint says. "Where does she live?"

"Oh, she's local," Silver says. "Runs a shop out of Hoboken. She'll come by if I tell her I'm marrying an old man for his money."

They might be doing this a little out of order, but Flint asks, "How old are you?" 

"Don't worry about it," Silver assures him, lifting himself up to press a kiss to the corner of Flint's mouth. "I'd marry you even if you were destitute." 

  
\---

  
Silver has survived all thirty-four years of his life by trusting his gut. It's gotten him through many dangerous jobs, maneuvered him into a place that he couldn't imagine he'd end up in when he was a boy. 

His gut is telling him that Flint is the other assassin. 

It's impossible, and yet - the evidence is damning. But reconciling his idea of his husband, with someone who had just shot at him? It's a lot to take in. That low swoop in his stomach that he had felt, when he had traced Flint's name at the building, turns into something harder, twisting inside of him as he drives. 

Flint's car isn't in the driveway by the time that Silver pulls in, which gives him time to carefully consider his next move. If Flint is the assassin from Florida, that means that he's been lying to him since they met. Jesus, was Bogota a job that he was sent on, too?

Silver walks through the house feeling as though someone's died. Usually, by now, he'd be rummaging through the fridge, toeing off his shoes where Flint will invariably trip over them, maybe opening a bottle of wine for them to share. But instead, he's methodically pulling on his gloves, running his hands over the seams of the bookshelves in the front room, the painting in the foyer.

The gilded edge of the frame feels a little loose, and Silver pulls, just a little, to test. The painting slides a little to the side and reveals a key taped to the inside of the back, cleverly hidden so that if he pulled it off the wall, it would be obscured by the black velvet backing. 

It turns out, the key fits perfectly into the hole he finds in the molding right below it. It's where he would hide things, too. Silver stares at the pistol, the ammunition, and the neat line of grenades that had been packed into the box, and he lets himself press the base of his palm into his forehead. 

\---

It's late in the evening by the time he gets back. Flint lets himself into the house. There's the smell of something spicy cooking, permeating throughout the house and greeting him as soon as he opens the front door. 

He makes sure his wedding ring is securely on his finger, as he calls through, "I'm back!"

Silver appears at the door. Flint catalogs his expression, while trying not to look as though he's doing so, as he says, "Hey, stranger," and walks towards him.

His husband kisses him on the cheek, and Flint breathes in. He tells himself he's checking to see if he can smell gunpowder or anything suspicious, rather than that expensive shampoo he uses, the smell of garlic radiating up from his apron. 

Silver pulls back without any strange expression. "How was your trip?"

"Uneventful," Flint says, watching him turn and walk back to the kitchen. "How was work for you?" 

"Oh, same old, same old," Silver says rather breezily. He seems a little distracted, which is not in itself unusual, except for the fact that he's not quite looking at Flint even when he's speaking to him. "Sit down over there, I'm almost done." 

He goes to the far side of the kitchen island, careful to hide the way that he slides his hand under the table to check for a gun. Silver's back is to him as he puts both his hands on the table, pushing his chair out just a little like he has to get up quickly. 

Flint studies the curve of his neck above his shirt, the back of his ear. "We did have a bit of an issue, today," he says before he can think better of it. Silver turns to open the fridge and Flint continues, "Turns out that someone double-booked a job, had me consulting with this client while another architect was trying to get the commission." 

"One of your colleagues?" 

"More like from a rival firm," Flint says carefully. "I think it's sorted now, though." 

"That sounds like something." Silver turns again, and he glances up at Flint. "You sound a little funny. Long day?" 

"I'm just a little jet-lagged, I think," Flint says. "I'm not sure the Florida weather agreed with me."

There it is. There's just a flicker of something over his face - Flint is so busy staring at him that he wouldn't have caught it, otherwise. Silver shrugs it off as quickly as it appeared, though, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "You should go sit in the dining room," he says. "I set it up for dinner tonight." 

Flint gets up, slowly. "Are we celebrating something?" 

"It's kind of special occasion," Silver says, coming around the kitchen island. 

He takes a step towards Flint, who holds himself still as he reaches around him, takes the bottle of wine off the table. "Would you take this in for me?" Silver asks, his mouth close to Flint's ear. Flint nods once, wraps his hand around the smooth glass. Silver smiles, and he can almost feel it on his own skin. "I'll be in with the salad in a moment."

He goes back around into the kitchen, and Flint steps into the dining room. Nothing seems to be amiss in here, even as he quickly checks behind the curtains and underneath his chair before he sets the bottle of wine on the table. Silver's set out the nice china, even put candles on the table. Flint's pretty sure he didn't forget their anniversary. Maybe this is all some kind of awful dream, he could have slipped and hit his head in Florida, and all this is his brain making a truly fucked up coma for himself - 

"Sit down," Silver says from behind him, and Flint resolutely doesn't jump. Usually, he can hear the clunk of Silver's prosthetic coming even on the carpeted floor, but this time, his approach was utterly silent. "You must really be tired, huh?" 

"It's a nice bottle," Flint says, and Silver's hand is feather-light on his back as he sinks into the chair. "Want me to open it?"

"If you don't mind," Silver says, procuring a bottle opener. The sharp, coiled end, he quickly spins around to face himself. Flint takes it from him with no small amount of trepidation. 

He cuts off the foil from around the neck, and as he crumples it in his hand, Flint watches out his peripheral vision as Silver takes a step down to the side of the table. He pulls out a large bread knife to start slicing with, the light glinting off the blade in a most sinister way. 

"You know," Silver says, as Flint carefully starts to twirl the metal through the cork, "I was walking by your office today. I would've stopped in if you had been there, of course, but I like the new sign they've put up." 

Flint tries to look as though he's concentrating on pulling the cork out. "Out front, you mean?" 

"Yes," Silver says. "Your firm is the only architecture-related on in the whole building, did you know?" 

"I guess I never thought of it like that." Flint looks to where Silver is setting down the knife, in a neat diagonal across the cutting board. "You know what, you cooked. How about I serve us both?"

Silver smiles magnanimously. "Always the gentleman," he says, and he goes to the far end of the table. "Pour me a glass, first?"

Flint avoids the knife, brings with him the wine bottle. Now that he's sitting down, Silver's gazing up at him, as Flint picks up his glass in one hand. "I like the look of this one," he says, rotating the bottle before pouring. "Did you just get it?" 

"I thought you might," Silver says. "It's vintage - " 

Flint lets the entire wine bottle slip out of his hand.

Like a flash of lightning, Silver's hand darts out, and he catches it mid-air. 

They both freeze. Flint watches as the side of Silver's mouth curls up - and why is he smiling, doesn't he know that Flint knows - before he lets go of the bottle completely. 

Red wine spills everywhere, soaking into the carpet around their feet into a dark stain. Flint takes an aborted step back, as Silver says, "I'll get a towel - " 

He hurries to the kitchen, and Flint moves. There's a gun in his bag, which he quickly retrieves from the front room, twisting on the silence and aiming it around the corner before he goes. The kitchen is silent, which means Silver either went in the direction of the study, the garage, or maybe up the stairs - "I think it was time to change that carpet, anyways," he calls up, "Silver?"

No answer. Flint's about to risk it and head up the stairs, but then he hears an engine revving. 

Well, that confirms it. Flint runs out the front door, just as Silver's car peels out of the garage, racing down the driveway. Keeping up a brisk pace, Flint levels the gun at the front wheel and starts to squeeze the trigger -

His foot makes contact with something, and he stumbles. The fucking garden gnome, he thinks wildly to himself, as the gun goes off, only he's already falling, and his aim is off. 

Unfortunately, that means that instead of the tire, the bullet pierces the windshield of the car. He can hear the crack of glass, the screech of the brakes as the car stops not ten meters in front of him. 

His stomach drops. Did he just - 

But then he sees movement, and the sight of Silver's head rising up again. He must have ducked to avoid a bullet to the fact. 

"You - _fuck_," Flint can hear Silver swear through the broken window, before the car's engine roars again, and he takes off into the night. 

Flint watches the car disappear around the corner. With his worst fear confirmed, he can only kick the gnome to the side. _Fuck_ is just about right. 

  
\--- 

Max is home when Silver arrives at her front door, banging on the wood until someone answers. Her girlfriend is also back, though, and she looms behind Max, looking most displeased with this development.

He doesn't have the energy to assuage any hurt feelings, though, even with his intrusion in their home. At the sight of her, finally, he starts to crumble. "Flint's one of us," Silver manages to get out, "I missed all the signs. How could I have missed the signs?" 

"Come in," Max urges, and he lets himself be dragged into the house, the door locked behind him. "How? I met him, he doesn't seem - "

"He's good, he's probably with one of those elite groups," Silver bites out. "I only know because he's the one who was sent on the same job, and it was a fucking coincidence that I could put it all together. Shit, I don't even know if I should be here, he could be tracing me now - "

Max says something low to Anne, who disappears. She comes in front of him, then, and he didn't even realize that he'd been guided to a chair and sat down until he feels the steady surface under his thighs. "Don't worry about that, right now. He knows who you are?"

"If not before, then definitely now," Silver says, "He shot at me while I was leaving."

"Is there anything in the house that he can use?" Max asks. Her hand is tight on his shoulder. "I've just sent Anne to get my phone, we'll have you out of the states tonight."

"I can't go," Silver says, "I need to fix this."

"He's not the man you thought he was," Max says, brutally honest. Good. That's what he needs. "So what are you going to do about it?" 

He tamps down the hysteria, the grief and the anger melting away into something more focused, sharp. He's a professional. He knows what he needs to do. 

A plan starts to form, clearing through the emotion in his head. "I need maps from midtown," Silver tells her, "And I could use your help yet again." 

Max's hand tightens on his shoulder before she lets go. 

\---

He hasn't done this in a while. Flint pulls his coat around him more as he exhales, the breath coming out in a long plume of fog. "I should have known," he says, again. "Maybe I did, and I just pushed it down like everything else. You both did tell me that I could trick myself the best." 

The twin gravestones don't answer him, not that he expected anything.

"I don't think it's even his real name," Flint says, "I did a search on him, years ago, and it was too neat. Maybe that's when I should've known. But it all happened so fast, and I can't - I can't." His voice breaks off a little, there, and he swallows down something that could be a furious cry if he dared let it out. 

Thomas, he thinks, would take the time now to say something like, _You can't help how you feel._ Miranda might add, _But you can't change the past._

Alone in the cemetery, Flint says out loud, "I wish I never found out." 

  
\---

Silver wakes up with a brutal hangover, thanks to the ten-million proof vodka that Anne had conjured up for him and Max last night, drunk something between coming up with a plan and if his memory serves him correctly, crying onto Max's shoulder about wedding photos. 

He pads out to the kitchen. Max herself is gone, but Anne is in sweatpants and cleaning her knives on the coffee table. The news plays on the TV in front of her. 

Silver tries not to make too much noise as he collects his shoes, but Anne suddenly says, "I was married, once. He wasn't one of us, but he was a fucking bastard."

He stops. She continues, "Shitty men are just that. You can stay stuck upon it, but then they win like that. You do what you gotta do, to get through it now."

If only it was that easy. Silver's not sure if he should answer, other than a quiet, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Anne says. "Don't get Max dragged into your stupid shit, either. Figure it out."

\---

Flint had sent a text ahead to Madi before he came into the office, far too early for anyone else to be in the building other than the night guard. But she's there not half an hour after he arrives, her face grim.

He hands her one of the coffees, still hot. "He's one of the freelancers," Flint says as she sips, "I think that he was looking for a cover this whole time."

She doesn't ask him how he knows, luckily. He can still hear the sound of the windshield shattering. "Personally, I think you should be drinking," Madi says, "But I've always admired your work ethic." 

Flint scoffs. "I want to find out who he really is," he says. "I'm going to make some calls this morning." 

"Even if he's just a freelancer," Madi says, "He'll have the connections to make an escape. It'll be easier if you can track him sooner now than later." 

"He's not going to go," Flint says, staring into his cup. "I broke his cover. He's going to come after me before I figure him out." Even if everything between them has been a lie, he knows how people work, and Silver - or whatever his name is - is no different. "I'll lure him out before he thinks to leave." 

"I'll cover for you. Eleanor was going to assign you the background research for my hit, but it's nothing I can't do myself." Flint nods, still focused on the coffee, as she steps away. 

Madi pauses at the door, though, and he looks up. There's a moment of hesitation before she speaks. 

"Her name's Eme," Madi says. "The night I met her, I did a full background check. If something similar happened to me... I don't know what I would do."

Flint thinks she does, but that's not quite the point she's trying to make here. "He'll be back," he says. "And when he is, I'll be waiting for him. "

"I'll be here if you need to talk," Madi says, simply, and she leaves him to his work.

\---

Anne's words stick with him those next few hours, as he heads into the city. _Figure it out. _

So that's what he does. He needs to confirm what he knows, and he knows where he needs to go to do so. 

There is something decidedly unsexy about climbing up an elevator shaft, Silver decides, and it's everything to do with the equipment that one has to wear to gain access to such tight quarters. It's not at all like any spy movie would have you believe, with daring darts across wires and black neoprene, but more like hanging onto the moldy wall and trying not to plunge to his death. He'd hate to be discovered one day as a skeleton dressed in these ugly construction worker uniforms. 

Luckily, he's a professional. The elevators are easy to get up and around, which means that whatever's up there, no one is planning on him getting around. 

Also luckily, he came prepared for this. 

  
\---

The alarm blares through the office. Flint pushes back his chair, where he's been waiting for the past forty-five minutes. He's just surprised it didn't happen earlier, he thinks, neatly shutting the office door behind him. 

Eleanor is in the main room when Flint comes in, Madi not far away. She looks remarkably unimpressed, as various techs around her frantically buzz around, and her arms are folded in front of her as she turns to face his approach. 

In their business, what Eleanor lacks in actual kills to her name, she more than makes up for being the information source where people like Madi and Flint get most of their jobs from. Pissing her off is an unfortunate side effect of his plan, but it's necessary in this case. 

"Madi suggested that you might know why someone is trying to get into our system right now," Eleanor says, very nearly sweetly. "Care to share with the rest of us why you apparently are not surprised by this turn of events?" 

"I knew him as John Silver, one of his aliases. He's a freelancer," Flint says. "Up until very recently, I thought he was just my husband.

The rest of the room goes quiet. Flint adds, somewhat unnecessarily, "He's hacking in because he wants to kill me." 

Madi clears her throat, and both Eleanor and Flint look at her. "He's been stopped by our security system for now," she says, "But he's good - or whoever he's working with knows what they're doing. We're trying to trace his location, but - " 

"It's probably not working correctly because he's in the building right now," Flint says. "The alarm he set off by breaking in is hiding the fact that he's within the building. Since our protocol is to go offline, the trace isn't going to recognize that the attack's from within." 

"Jesus fuck," Eleanor utters. "You smoked him out - and you didn't think to tell any of us about this plan of yours?"

"He was going to come, one way or another," Flint tells her. "We get rid of him now, and he's no longer a problem." He pauses, just a little. "It does mean we're going to have to evacuate the personnel, do a full wipe just in case one of his bugs sticks." 

"Fine," Eleanor says, though a bit clipped about it. "You owe me a new chair. Everyone," she says in a louder voice now, "Code orange. Use the east side windows, and don't take your time." 

With another searing look at him, she leaves, presumably to initiate the destruction of the headquarters that's part of their protocol. They've done this before - while not exactly common, it's good practice to start from scratch when you build a business like an assassin agency. They can't risk Silver getting any more into their system and copying critical data, so they're burning down the house before the flood can strike. 

From in front of them, one of the techs says, "We have visual confirmation in elevator number three."

Madi touches his elbow. "It's charged," she says, "Ready when you are."

Flint nods once. "Turn on the camera," he directs the tech, who obliges.

The biggest monitor flashes for a second, and then it turns to the security camera footage. At the same moment, the phone in Flint's pocket rings. 

On the screen, Silver smirks up at the security camera, holding a phone to his ear. 

\---

"You shouldn't have come by," Flint says over the phone. "You see, I'm very busy today."

"Oh, but you've been working such long hours," Silver snipes right back. The camera above his head blinks every three seconds, a little red light. "Can't you spare your husband a little time?"

The computer's working away at his feet, but he doesn't pay any attention to that, now. He wishes he could see Flint's face right now.

"If you leave now," Flint says clearly, "You might be able to get far away. Run for weeks, months, even. I'll give you that time to wrap up your affairs." 

"Oh, but that's a lot less fun than this, wouldn't you say?" Silver gestures around him. "It's a nice place. Though the bagels downstairs leave much to be desired."

"Silver," Flint says, "I'm serious."

"As am I," Silver says, then drops his voice. "You're cutting it pretty close, right? Pretty soon, I'm going to know your real name, your co-workers, everything that you don't want to be known. Then I'll sell it to the highest bidder - I mean, you haven't made enemies in your line of work, have you?"

There's a long pause. "You have two minutes," Flint informs him. "We've put charges beneath the floor and the walls of the elevator."

Silver glances at the floor around him. "Ah. So that's the source of that sound. You know, I have to tell you - I hated that carpet anyways." 

"Are you finished?" 

"Baby, I haven't finished in years," Silver says. "I do hope this isn't going to ruin your day." 

"Goodbye, John," Flint says, and there's a click as the line disconnects. 

  
\---

"Do it," Flint tells the tech, and she pushes a key. 

The monitor goes grey, and then black. Flint listens, but it's not like he can hear the explosion from way up here. The computer screen informs him that elevator three has been put offline. From the amount of C4 that he and Madi were able to scrape together even on this short notice, there's barely going to be pieces of it left.

He tells himself, this is what had to happen. Madi is looking at him, he can tell, but she doesn't say anything.

"It's time to evacuate," Flint says dully, and it's the tech's turn to scramble. "I'll stay, confirm - "

"There's no way he survived that," Madi says, quietly. "Come on. Eleanor's not going to wait for you to clear out, either."

Flint nods, once, and he tears his gaze away from the screen. 

  
\---

He really tried to blow him up. That therapist really said that the biggest problem in their marriage could be _miscommunication. _

Silver waits until the elevator doors slide open before he tugs the hard hat forward a little, obscuring his gaze if he tilts his head down. Around them, people are worriedly muttering, probably because elevator three just exploded high up somewhere in the building, and those shock waves are hard to explain. 

Good thing he switched the cameras between three and four from the elevator shaft. Silver escapes in the crowd, the sunlight greeting him outside. He tries to feel like he's won, only it's a hollow victory this time. 

\---

  
A week after Flint had asked him to marry him, Silver had gone to the airport. 

He had stared up at the departure boards. Curacao, Beijing, London, Liege, Tokyo, and many more. He could pull out the cash from one of the ATMs outside, just get on any one of those flights, and be half a world away before Flint would think anything was wrong. He could start over again, change his name, tell himself a different story about his life. 

Flint would hate him. Over time, the hate would probably turn softer, into some kind of sadness, then trail away into resigned acceptance. The question is, what is Silver going to do with the rest of his life after he knows what it's like to be loved by a man like that? Because whether or not Silver's comfortable to admit it, Flint has seen him. He doesn't know who Silver's been, what Silver does, or what he's even considering right now - but Silver thinks that if he could, he would let him know. 

They say that with the right person, it's not so scary to be known like that. But Silver knows that if he wanted to be known like that, what he wants could never happen. 

He loves Flint, and if he spends the rest of his life giving him everything else about him - then maybe that could be enough. 

He gets home a little later than usual. Flint is working from home this week because of some bug going through his office, and he glances up when Silver comes into the apartment. 

"Hey, I was wondering where - " Flint gets out, before Silver kisses him hard. It's the kind of kiss that has him half rising up out of his chair to meet him, Silver's hands bracketing his face as he does so, with a questioning noise. 

When he draws back so that Flint can breathe again, Silver blurts out, "I bought us a house." 

"What?"

"I passed by it today," Silver says. That part is true. "It's not too far from the city, close to the train. I went in, and I put down a deposit because the realtor was terrifying, honestly, and it was perfect. It's got a study for your books, and there's a little bit of green space out back, and I could see us growing old there. I wanted you to have it." 

He watches Flint's eyes go wide, then scrutinize, and then come to some sort of bemused agreement.

"Okay," Flint says, "I trust you." 

Silver kisses him, again, and again. "If you hate it, we'll just write it off," he says in between presses of his mouth against Flint's, his cheek, the angle of his jaw. "I had the money lying around for that kind of opportunity - "

"Hey, hey," Flint says, and it nearly sounds like a laugh as he pulls Silver's head back just a little. "I believe you. How about we go see it, tomorrow?"

"If you hate it, I'll burn it down for you," Silver says, only half-kidding. "The property's probably worth the most, honestly." 

"Romantic," Flint says, wryly. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." 

  
\---

  
He thinks that he should be reminiscing over the good days, as Flint takes a drink from his glass of champagne. Maybe he should be at the shooting range, or burning some of Silver's clothes, or heading to the closest dive bar to forget about the past two days.

He thinks about that black screen. He's going to have to request some time off, he knows, figure out where he's been compromised, if Silver's made up some trap waiting for him back at their home, even if he isn't around to set it off - 

It's this stupid restaurant, Flint thinks to himself. He should've gone somewhere else - anywhere else. 

A hand wraps around his own, and the bottle clinks ever so gently against the glass in his hand. Flint's about to tell off the waiter, only he recognizes that voice. "Champagne is usually for celebrations, is it not?" 

Flint hides even the faintest hint of a smile before he takes back his glass. "Should I check this for poison?"

Silver comes around him, sits across from him at the small table. He's not even got a scratch visible on him. "Here." He plucks the glass out of Flint's hand before he can stop him, downs the glass himself. "Mm. Don't think so." 

He has on a dark suit that Flint has never seen him wear before, so he presumes that it's something acquired on the way here, rather than from a detour back at the house. The music is loud enough around them, but Silver still ducks in his head as he says, "Did you really think you blew me up, back there?"

"I had hoped as much," Flint says. "I suppose it's not a surprise that you squirmed your way out of that too."

"You're not wearing your ring."

"My husband died. I can't say I miss him." 

Silver snorts. "You know, I hated this place," he says next, glancing around them. "The champagne's barely a redeeming factor in its own right. It was a fun night after though, wasn't it?"

"You're the one who picked it out," Flint replies. He tries to make eye contact with a passing waiter, to no avail. "What brings you here now?"

"Oh, I needed a ride back home," Silver says easily. "Pick up my things, bid adieu to the children. I'm surprised that you came out tonight - having a drink in my honor?"

"You said it yourself, the champagne was in celebration," Flint retorts. "I'd like to see you get within a mile of the house now." 

"I wore out my welcome?"

"You couldn't wear me out even if you tried," Flint snaps. 

The music changes, something with a dangerously quick tempo. Silver drums his fingers across the table once, twice. "We should dance," he says suddenly. "I know this song." 

Not one to be caught off guard, Flint says, "You don't dance."

"Oh, that's part of my cover, sweetheart," Silver says, and he dares to smirk as he stands up. "Shall we?" 

Not one to be bested, Flint stands up too, straightens his jacket. When Silver takes his hand, though, he can't resist twisting his fingers until something in his wrist cracks. Silver cringes, swears under his breath, and now it's Flint's turn to smirk as he spins them together. "Second thoughts?" 

"Every day I wake up," Silver says, and he leads them right into the complicated tango step, probably trying to trip him up. Flint's not danced in years like this, but the muscle memory comes back readily, even as he has to wonder if Silver's going to try to pull a gun on him in close quarters like this. 

There are others dancing around them, but he can only focus on is the thrum of Silver's heartbeat through his grip, the way his muscles flex just a little before he spins them around. He doesn't expect it, though, when Silver slams his back into one of the pillars near the wall, hard enough to make his eyes water. 

Flint grits his teeth, feeling the mirrored surface shatter somewhere between his shoulder blades. No one is paying them much attention, as he slides his hand up Silver's bicep, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in so he can say right into his ear, "You'd think that was on purpose, dear," at the same time sliding his hand into Silver's jacket, feeling for a gun. 

There isn't one, and the curl to Silver's mouth just grows. "I think you should buy me a drink first," Silver says like he's not doing the same thing when he whirls them around, using the move as an excuse to run his hand along the small of Flint's back, checking for a holster. 

Flint seizes the opportunity to whirl them both around until he's leading them back onto the dancefloor. "You owe me a new office," he says, "I'll be collecting." 

He drops to his knees, neatly, ignoring the smug look on Silver's face, as he successfully finds the knife that's strapped to his ankle. Flint neatly unhooks it, slides it across the floor until it's far away. 

Silver lifts him up by his elbows, spins them around. "I'd like to see you try." He tries the same twisting move, only Flint's quicker, pulls his hands up so that he can try to kick out Silver's feet from underneath him - only Silver's nimble enough to jump over a little, even make it look intentional. 

The music fades away a little, replaced by something quieter, slower. Flint feels Silver reach the garrotte wire tucked against the inside of his belt, quickly plucking it free and tossing it somewhere behind him. He draws him close, then, maybe so that Flint doesn't get an idea about the tiny knife that's tucked into the lapel of his jacket. 

"Was it the job?" Silver says suddenly, into Flint's ear. "Or was it us that went wrong?"

"I don't see why you should care," Flint tells him, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "If it was just a cover - "

"Was I?" Silver asks before he can finish. "Just a cover?"

"Wasn't I?"

At that, Silver pulls back abruptly. Flint tries to catch his eye, read his expression, but he ducks his head to the side. "Perhaps there was poison after all," Silver says, a ghost of a smile across his face. "Excuse me." 

Flint watches him walk away, and his hands flex uselessly at his sides. If he didn't know better, it nearly sounded like regret in his voice. But what was there to regret? Silver knew what he was getting into, and he might be many things, but a professional certainly doesn't regret his cover - 

Then he catches sight of the smoke that's coming from the men's room, suddenly. A man hurries out, followed by another - like they've been chased away. 

There's an explosion from inside the bathroom, and someone screams. The restaurant becomes a scene of panic, then, as people start to flee. Flint can't hide his smile now, and he lets himself be carried out by the crowd, pushed out into the cold night air. 

Silver is nowhere to be seen, but he knows where he's going. They're going to settle this, one way or another, tonight. 

Of course, it's not like Silver is going to play fair, he realizes, coming back to the valet lot where he discovers that the bastard stole his car. 

Flint, very grimly, flags down the next taxi he sees. If Silver wants a fight, then he'll get a fight, all right. 

\---


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, I LIVE, AND I'M WRITING AGAIN. no surprise, this year has been something else entirely lmao. I saw the movie again and went "oh shit my au", dusted off the update which had been ~50% written for a while and here we go again. enjoy!
> 
> (split this last chapter in two and then upped the rating bc it was always going to follow certain plot points involving The Big Fight, and then the sex)

By the time he gets home, it looks like the house is empty. The lights are all off and there's no car to be seen on their block. Not even the streetlight flicks on when he walks up and across the front yard, staying to the shadows in case anyone's watching from the window. 

It'd be a mistake to think that no one was home. Flint draws his gun as soon as he's close enough so that none of the neighbors think he's about to commit mariticide - well, even though that's exactly what he's about to do, but it really wouldn't do to have so many witnesses to whatever comes next. 

Flint goes in through the garage, stepping carefully so that not a single floorboard creaks under his shoes. This - the waiting, the practiced pace of moving undetected, he could do in his sleep. 

He listens, but he can't hear even a whisper of life inside. Flint slips through the living room, padding on through as silently as he can manage. 

He finally hears a faint rattle in the distance, like something being knocked over. Flint makes it to the dining room, where there should be a gun stashed under the side table - 

Only it's not there. Flint's fingers slide along wood, not metal, when Silver's voice rings out, "You're going to have to do better than that."

Flint instinctively ducks down, just as something whirls right over his head, embedding itself into the wall. Crouched down still, he turns around to face him. 

Silver's in the middle of aiming the missing gun at him, and Flint takes the opportunity to pull the carpet underneath his feet, so Silver stumbles forward instead. While he recovers, Flint launches himself forward.

His husband - the _ target _ \- lets out some feral sound as he tugs his arm back, kneeing Flint dangerously low in the abdomen, forcing him to roll to the side. Flint continues his momentum below the dining room table, hearing the wood splinter where Silver fires the gun as he rolls out of sight, out of range. 

He makes it to the front hallway, where there's a gun that Silver didn't find, tucked in a hole concealed by the baseboard that he pries away now. It's already loaded, and when he hears the footsteps, Flint fires through the wall. He hears the splinter of wood, a grunt. 

Flint inches back into the kitchen, keeping low the whole time just in case. He catches glimpse of a photo of the two of them on the ruined wall, the glass frame cracked. 

"Fuck," Flint bites out, then shouts, "I _ trusted _ you!"

"You want to talk about _ trust?" _ Silver must be closer than he guessed, for his voice echoes from right around the corner. Flint instinctively takes a lower stance, readying his gun. "You already fucking shot at me! _ Twice _!"

He decides it's not worth getting his head blown off to mention the gnome at this point. "You had a _ rocket launcher _!"

"Which I didn't even get to enjoy, because you just had to go and _ ruin _things - "

"Oh, _ I'm _ruining things, am I - " and Flint finally fires where the echo bounces off the wall, shattering the hideous wall art that Silver had put up last spring. He's not even sorry about it, not anymore, as the frame slides with a heavy clunk to the ground. 

Only he can tell he hasn't hit him, because Silver adds, "And you're a terrible shot, to boot - "

"Would you _ shut up _," Flint snarls, trying to take a deep breath so he can relieve some of the pressure that's been building in his chest. Whenever Silver speaks, the feeling gets more and more painful, the longer they draw this cat-and-mouse game out. 

"What part of you - " Silver starts, cutting off when Flint reaches around the corner of the kitchen and fires blindly, and there's a low thud before he continues, " - makes you think I have the _ personality _ for a _ stock trader _? And you, you must be the worst architect, I can't believe I didn't guess before that you were really a fucking assassin, that'd be more likely - " 

"I like architecture, asshole!"Flint bites out, and now he's the one who has to duck when Silver fires through the wall, holes above him appearing as Flint flings himself to the opposite side of the kitchen. 

He's out of ammo, but he's finally protected by the marble island, for now. Flint glances up, measuring his surroundings, and he comes up with a plan. 

He has to get up the stairs to the shotgun, and he's going to have to lure Silver in here to do so. Maybe dispatch him once and for all, but he's not going to hold his breath for that particular outcome to come so easily at this point.

Charming, handsome John Silver - trying to kill him right now. He thinks that somewhere, Thomas and Miranda are looking down at him, and seriously questioning his taste in men. He knows he is. 

Flint starts to flick on the dials for the stove burners, as Silver starts to go off on some tirade. No matter - he'll walk right into the trap soon enough, and then Flint can leave all of this behind him.

He can. 

He _ will _. 

\---

" - and you know what really blows," Silver says, checking the tripwire he's just rolled out, "I brought my_ actual _sister to our wedding, which I really wouldn't have done if I had known you'd try to kill me!"

He's been projecting his voice for the last few minutes, hoping to throw Flint off as to his actual location. He's expecting Flint to think him some sloppy amateur, make the usual small mistakes, and be utterly unaware of just how many explosive things Silver's scrounged up from around the house right about now. Those elitist assassin types, they're all the same, Silver thinks with no small amount of scorn. 

He hears a faint clatter, the sound he knows comes from years of living in this house, of that loose knob on the second drawer near the island. 

Silver thinks,_ Got you _ . He says, "And while we're being honest, the shaved head was _ not _the best look for you," keeping his voice loud and coming from the opposite end of the hall. 

A creak of tile - from right around the kitchen - and Silver whirls around the corner, firing the gun. 

Unfortunately, Flint must have prepared for this, for the kitchen explodes into a fireball around him. 

Silver narrowly avoids being burned by the refrigerator door being flung open, the metal protecting him from the worst of it. The heat is blistering, rippling out as he protects himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

But the fire is out as quickly as it had started. He coughs on smoke all the same for a minute, narrowly avoiding tripping on some wire set up around knee height. 

Once he recovers, Silver curses, stomping his now-singed boots. Flint's nowhere to be seen, but he realizes that that was the point - now he's got the high ground. 

"Hope that didn't kill you," he can hear Flint call out, from somewhere upstairs. Bastard must have snuck around him during the explosion, Silver realizes, and now he's got God knows how many more weapons up there with him. 

He really would like to be muttering under his breath right now, but unfortunately, Flint would definitely be able to kill him much easier if he did so, and he's not going to give him the satisfaction so early in the night.

Silver takes up back in the hallway, away from the foyer - where Flint will no doubt be waiting for him to step into to snipe him - and measures the distance. If he leans in just the right place, he'll have a clear line of sight without putting too much risk on himself. 

He counts his few remaining bullets, then peers forward. He can just make out a slight movement in the smoke that's lazily curling its way up the stairs, and Silver fires into the haze. 

There's just more silence when Silver holds his breath to listen. Not even a creak from the house, nor the sound of any return fire. 

“Flint?” Silver calls out, ducking his head just a little forward. "Baby? You still alive?”

There’s a groan then, a clattering sound. Silver falters for a moment, only then he sees the blur of movement just as quickly as he let his guard down. 

He dives back just in the nick of time, as a shotgun blast takes out the wall above his head, then another, and another. Plaster rains down into his hair and Silver spits out a piece of the wall. "_ Shit, shit - " _

The shots stop for a moment. “_ Baby _,” he hears Flint call right back, in a sneer of an imitation, “Did I get you?” 

“I hate you,” Silver mutters under his breath, already sliding down the hall on reflex as several more shots following right above him. His ribs are going to hurt after this, all right. There's no telltale clink of reloading, though, when they cease again, and he reaches down to tug up the leg of his pants. 

Silver unhinges the compartment on his prosthetic leg, where a tiny blade slips out into his palm. If the smug bastard wants a fight, he'll get it. He silently gets to the bottom of the stairs, where he crouches in preparation, the knife in his hand.

He hears a footstep, and Silver takes a guess, lunges out low to tackle him around his waist. 

Flint lets out an _ oof, _caught off guard for a moment so that Silver can try to sink the blade into his thigh. No luck - Flint must see the glint of the blade, and he's kicking his leg above Silver's head - just missing his foot connecting with Silver's temple, when he swerves to avoid the direct hit, although it means Flint gets more distance between them. 

Silver takes the sight of him in. There's blood high on his shoulder, probably from the bullet that Silver had just tried to put in him, but not enough to keep him from being upright. He does have to admit, however begrudgingly, that Flint looks good like this - all ruffled, stormy-eyed and furious, looking like he's about to kill Silver - which, hey, he might very well be. 

It's not going to be a fair fight, Silver knows. If he can get Flint to lose his temper, maybe? Silver points the blade at him, drawls, "You gonna dance with me here?" 

Flint mirrors his body language, eyeing him as he puts his fists in front of him. "Come on," Silver goads, "You look like you're already out of breath - "

He's cut off by Flint lunging at him, fist swinging right at him. He's too fast to stop, and Silver takes the punch, rolling with the hit and using his momentum to twist around, elbow Flint hard in the side. Flint retaliates by pulling his arm down hard, nearly dropping him to the ground as Silver flings his fist up, catching him squarely in the jaw with a crunch. The knife goes flying, and Silver narrowly avoids Flint landing a hit to his throat. 

"Fuck - " he says, or maybe that's Flint saying the same thing out loud, as the man proceeds to bodily pick him up by his thighs, slamming him against the entryway wall. 

Silver hisses as his back and head make contact with the ruined wall, bringing his hands up to squeeze Flint's throat in retaliation. Flint gasps under his hands, and Silver's already leaning forward and headbutting him, causing both of them to lurch back. 

Flint drops him midway, and as Silver falls, he twists his legs around Flint's to take him out completely too. They land on the ground hard, Flint on top of him. Silver twists underneath him, elbowing him hard in the sternum, as Flint tries to land blows on his face. He swings his head forward, again, as Flint dodges, raining blows down to either side of his head.

That gives enough space in between them so that Silver wraps his legs around his waist and flips them both over. Now that he's on top, he locks his knees around his waist, fighting Flint's grip on his forearms to try to choke him. Flints' nose is bleeding, and Silver can feel a cut pull high on his cheekbone as they grapple. 

Flint's breathing hard from the effort, and he holds both of his arms up, blocking Silver's attack when he switches in an attempt to throw him off. From here, he can't knee him in the groin, but Silver certainly can pin him to the ground, try to get at him. 

Silver manages to get out, "You just had to - go and _ lie _ \- "

"You really want to talk about _ lies _," Flint snarls, and he suddenly thrusts his hips up, knocking Silver off of him. He lands with a thud to the side, as they both spring up, resume a boxer-like stance. 

Flint spits out blood, growls, "You've been lying to me since the day we met." 

"So did you!" Silver shouts, the rage surprising him in its intensity at his words, "You fucking _ hypocrite _, don't pretend like this isn't just another job to you!"

Flint's mouth opens, and Silver takes the momentary distraction to lunge for the gun he had spotted, a little way down the hall past them. 

He can hear Flint move fast, too, in the opposite direction, and he wonders if he's going to have to chase him through the house now.

Only when Silver aims the gun right at him, he finds a gun in his face too. They're facing off, and Flint's jaw is set. 

They must make for such a sight, Silver thinks, trying to feel dispassionate about it. Only his heart's still thudding, and Flint's eyes are locked on his, and he still can't squeeze the fucking trigger - he _ has to, come on - _

Silver swallows. "I'll shoot," he warns, taking a step forward, gun trained right on Flint's heart. "I'll do it. I swear to God, Flint."

Flint is just silent, staring at him from behind the gun. He looks tired, now, in a way that's at odds with the way that he was keeping up with fighting Silver not a moment ago. A quick read of him makes Silver think that he looks like he's not going to take the shot - but there's no way - 

"Don't," Silver says immediately, as Flint slowly lowers his gun, surprised and yet still so betrayed at the idea that he's just going to _ give up _\- "Stop that. Don't - " 

"I can't," Flint says, after a long, agonized moment, and he puts the gun down in front of him, where there's no way he could recover it without getting shot first.

Silver looks at the gun on the ground between them, on that carpet that he hated so much. He says, "That's a stupid idea." 

Flint tells him, "I can't shoot you."

Silver's hand is shaking, badly, he realizes. "You're an idiot," he snaps, something feeling awfully like panic clogging his throat, "You think I won't?"

A resigned, half-smile breaks out across Flint's face and Silver never wants to see that look again. "It's okay," he says, "I forgive you," and what the _ fuck _ is Silver supposed to do with that?

Behind Flint, Silver recognizes the silver frame of their wedding photo, now facedown among the broken glass and bits of wall, and something inside him twists painfully tight. 

There's only one choice he has, here, and it's not really a choice. 

Silver drops his gun. "You," Silver says, and his voice sounds horrifyingly wobbly even to his own ears, "You - "

He's not sure who moves first, but it ends up with the two of them together, Silver's mouth finding Flint's as easy as breathing. 

Flint tastes like sweat and smoke, disgusting and perfect all the same. When Silver rakes his fingers down his chest, Flint groans into his mouth, his own hands coming up to shakily press around Silver's ears, his hair, keeping him close. 

If this was some kind of trick to get Silver to give up, it would be working, because he can't focus on anything other than the slide of Flint's mouth again his right now, chasing the taste of him underneath it all. His fingers tear into his clothing, as Flint's hands move down to grab at Silver's hips, tugging him closer like he's going to be ripped away at any moment, greedily seeking out skin just like him.

This is like rolling together on the surface of the sun, the way they're still fighting but_ so much better _. Jesus, he almost killed him - and why would he do that, after everything? 

He loves this goddamn man, and it scares him how much he's willing to risk to have him still. Silver thinks he might be mumbling something along those lines into Flint's mouth, only it's made unintelligible by how desperate he is for him, right now. 

He bites down, hard, on Flint's lip, pushing him until his back collides with the bullet-ridden wall, kicking both of their guns far away as he does so. 

Flint doesn't seem to mind, pulling him closer until he's got a leg between his, grinding against each other right in the front room, sliding his hands down to grab at Silver's ass, as Silver effectively rips his shirt free from him. 

"I liked that shirt," Flint says, actually sounding offended, though he helps Silver by shrugging off the remnants all the same. 

Silver presses a kiss to his mouth, says against his lips, "I'll buy you a new one." He can feel how Flint's already hard against him, the sensation making him nearly dizzy with want. 

Silver slips his hand in between them, inside of Flint's pants while fighting to prioritize the dual urges to suck on Flint's tongue and to get his hand on him, as Flint speaks right in his ear, like he's the one jerking him off, voice low and filthy, "Want to feel you, come on - " 

Silver bites down onto his collarbone, feeling how Flint pulses against his palm at that, and so he does it again, his tongue chasing over the sensitive skin that will no doubt bruise. 

Flint says, now hoarsely, "Ground, go to the ground - " 

Silver hits him once, hard, with his free hand on the chest, says, "Don't tell me what to do."

He sees the glint in Flint's eye, his only warning before he's pushing Silver right back again like they were fighting. But it's with a much different motive this time, as Flint's fingers dig into the small of his back, working his pants down just as much as he's trying to get Silver on the floor. 

They slide against each other once again to go down without losing any physical contact. The hallway's narrow enough so that they end up diagonal across it, Flint straddling his thighs and making quick work of Silver's remaining clothes. 

Flint hesitates for just a moment when he sees where the prosthetic has rubbed his leg a little raw from before, but Silver actually grabs his hair and yanks him back when he starts to slow down, baring Flint's throat to him and seeing him swallow in response. 

"We could've killed each other," Silver says, "I could've _ killed you _," and he drinks in how dark Flint's eyes go at that, only matched by the way that he moves down in response without another word, Silver's grip slackening just as quickly as he had moved.

Flint takes him into his mouth like he's dying for it, closing his eyes as he tastes him. Silver gasps, throwing his head back into the hard ground so his eyes are watering, as Flint rakes his nails down the fronts of his bare thighs. He hisses through his clenched teeth as Flint runs his tongue over the head of his cock, closed eyes that only open when Silver gasps out, "There, like you _ mean it - " _

He's distantly aware of how he's saying things without any thought, all of the anger and relief coming free from between his teeth by now. There are no secrets between them now, nothing in the way that they're so utterly in sync with each other, desperate and eager for everything they can give and take at once. 

"I - fuck, there - thought I'd lost you," Silver babbles, as Flint strokes his hipbones with his thumbs, keeping him pinned by his weight, "Jesus - there - you're the only one - _ shit _ \- you're it for me, that's it - " 

When he comes, he's rendered nearly silent with the intensity that races through him, his back bowing off the ground as Flint swallows around him. Maybe he blacks out for a moment, because the next thing he knows, Flint is above him once again, eyes fixed on his face like he's drinking in the sight of him now, before capturing his mouth for another long kiss. 

"We're alive," Flint says against his mouth, kissing him once, twice, again, and he can taste himself on his tongue.

It turns into something slower, sweeter - but with an edge unlike before, as they both find out where to push just right. Silver can wrap a tight hand around him once again from this angle, suck marks into the junction of his neck and shoulder - the uninjured side - to hear Flint make those kinds of noises again from above him. 

He speeds up the movement of his hand, says right into Flint's ear, "Come for me, you're so fucking _ gorgeous, _ fuck - " and it's not long before Flint comes, holding onto Silver's wrist and his shoulder so tightly that he knows there will be more bruises later in the shape of his fingers on his skin, as Silver licks away the sweat that beads just above his upper lip, watching how Flint's face goes slack with pleasure. 

He finds that he's hard once again by then. From the pleased curl of Flint's mouth, it seems that they both have a lot more living to do right now. 

The rest can wait, Silver decides, as he flips them both over, feeling Flint's tight grip on his arms as he rolls his hips down, meets his eyes, and he grins. 

\---

Eventually, they end up slumped on the ground next to each other. Silver turns his head to look at him, takes in the profile of his nose, his forehead. There's blood drying down over Flint's bicep, bisecting the moon tattoo on his arm. 

Silver reaches out, touches the edge of it. Flint doesn't move his eyes away from the ceiling, but he can feel the muscle flex under his skin. 

After a moment, Silver says, "I can go get a first aid kit." He tenses to start to get up, but Flint's hand lands on his stomach - with no real force behind it, but an implicit request.

"All right," Silver says, and he lays back down beside him for a little while longer. Flint's eyes close, and he lets out a long exhale, his arm staying over Silver as they both finally rest. 

\---

He can't say he expected this particular outcome. 

But Flint had stared down the barrel of his gun at Silver, and he had known that this was always going to happen. He was never going to be able to take the shot. It was never going to happen another way. 

(The not killing him, that is. The fucking was kind of an unexpected bonus to both of them surviving this night, a very pleasant change to his original expectations of how this was going to go). 

Flint gets up, at last, because his back really is going to be killing him if he accidentally falls asleep like this. Beside him, Silver blinks like he's waking up too, pushing himself into a more upright position. His hair's a mess, and Flint can see where there's a dark bruise forming on his jaw - from fighting or fucking, he's not sure at this point. 

It's still night, as far as he can tell, and Silver is there, and he's alive. Flint cautiously extends his hand once he's up, and Silver takes it, hoisting himself up too. 

It's almost like they're strangers, tip-toeing their way around each other now. They're both decidedly not looking fully at each other, which strikes him as far more surreal than anything about this situation. 

He can't stop the laugh that starts to come out of his chest, feeling loose and nearly giddy with the feeling of _ relief. _ Silver looks over at him, likely startled at the first sound coming out from him in a while. 

"Sorry," Flint says, "It's just - we're going to have rug burn. That ugly carpet." 

Silver huffs out a laugh, too, running a hand through his hair. Bits of plaster and paint flakes fall to the ground, and he follows their trajectory for a moment. 

"I need to eat," Silver says, then slowly, "Do you want - well. We should see what's left, first."

Belatedly, he remembers the kitchen explosion. "Okay."

Silver nods at his shoulder, where the bullet had grazed him. "You're not going to bleed out on me now, are you?"

Flint had honestly forgotten about it ever since Silver had kissed him, so he figures it can go a while longer without being treated. "It'll be fine," he says. 

\---

The refrigerator is charred, but it doesn't stop Silver from opening the door, rummaging about until he emerges with a mostly intact pitcher of orange juice, plus some bread from the counter. Flint grabs them two semi-broken glasses from the cabinet, and they find a space on the ground that's not covered in broken glass or shell casings, splitting the food between them. 

Midway through, Silver reaches out, and he thumbs the split in Flint's lip. He looks like he's about to apologize or something, so Flint takes his hand in his, presses a kiss between his bruised knuckles. Silver slides his fingers in between his. 

"We're a little fucked up, aren't we," Silver says. 

"Yeah." Flint finishes off the piece of bread, chewing as he considers the wreckage around them, watching as Silver brushes a little bit of glass away from their feet. 

He swallows his bite, says, "Do you regret it?" 

"Can't say I do," Silver says, not letting go of his hand. In between his words, Flint falls in love with him all over again - or maybe that never changed. It just feels _ right _. "Do you?"

In response, Flint knocks their bare knees together. "I missed this," he says, and the smile he gets in return - well, it was worth all of the hits in the world. 

\---

"How many?"

"How many?" 

"You know," Silver says. "How many people you've done." Flint still looks like he's thinking of an answer. "I don't care, honestly. No more secrets, right?"

"Four hundred and thirteen," Flint says at last, and Silver blinks.

"_ Really _."

"I am older than you," Flint says, with an edge of defense to it, "Why, what about you?"

"Not four hundred, that's for sure," Silver says, more than little stuck on this. "I mean - that's just more than I expected."

"Some of them were at the same time," Flint points out. "It doesn't mean anything." 

"Not sure that makes a difference now, does it?"

After a mutual shower, which involved a very careful examination of all bodily injuries by both parties, basic medical care, and a whole lot more of lazily making out against the tile, Flint thinks that everything is forgiven at last. 

Somewhere along the line, they've decided to start swapping stories - and explanations for the last few years. They're sitting in their bedroom, the one room that's been untouched by the carnage, or so it seems. Silver had pulled out a lot of drawers in his search for weapons, earlier, and there are clothes strewn everywhere, but they find themselves on the bed. 

Flint's leaning against the headboard, his shoulder freshly bandaged, while Silver lies with his feet across his lap, nursing an ice pack to his jaw. 

Flint lifts his left hand. "I can't fully use these two fingers," he says, "They've been numb since a job in Moscow, got bad frostbite while I was stuck in a sniper's nest." 

"Our first anniversary, I was missing two molars and had to hide it from you," Silver offers, sitting up and poking his cheek in emphasis. "Mob deal. I had to get the bridge the next week. I can't believe you didn't notice it." 

"Oh, that was the time when I got blown back by a grenade," Flint says, "I had to go to bed early, remember? It wasn't because of too much wine - I didn't have my full vision back for a month." 

"Huh." Silver scratches his chest idly, before lying back down so his head's in Flint's lap now. "Hey, that time you were really late to the block party - " 

"That really was just traffic," Flint says. "I came back early from taking out Berringer, and took the wrong exit back." 

"_ You _got Berringer?" Silver exclaims, and Flint lets his hand rest just on top of his head, still stroking just above his ear. "You've got to be kidding me! I wanted that bastard."

"It was _ immensely _ satisfying," Flint admits, with a none too small grin coming across his face. "I paid the last bit of our mortgage off with that job, too." 

Silver surges up and kisses him hard at that, the ice pack falling somewhere on the bed. Flint's shoulder twinges, too, but he finds that he has better things to be distracted by. 

Later, Silver says, "I learned to cook because I had to sneak into a white-collar prison through the kitchen for a job, once."

"You're an awful cook."

"Yeah, but I can make stupidly huge amounts of scrambled eggs in five minutes, which came in handy in Munich this one time, actually..." 

"I don't actually like watching football," Flint says a while later, pressed up next to him on their bed. "I just had to come up with an excuse on why I had to sit down for several hours at a time after I got hit in the knee with a tire iron."

Silver traces the scar tissue on his side. "This looks like when I got shot during that long conference you had in the Bahamas - which I'm guessing wasn't the case for you now, was it?" 

"Another hit. But it was in the Bahamas," Flint says. "Spent two days on the beach, wishing you were there. My co-worker at our wedding was an actor, by the way."

"What - that wasn't her?" Flint shakes his head. Silver says, fondly, "Bastard. I didn't hire an actor for Max."

He's shouted as much to him earlier, he remembers. "Maybe you'll meet her, now that... it's different." It's a concept that Flint would have never entertained, but the whole world is stretched out at their feet, now. Flint says, "I think you'd like her." 

"I'd like that." They sit in comfortable silence for a while longer, and Flint's eyes start to slide shut again before Silver says, "I took out a drug kingpin with just a book once."

Without opening his eyes, Flint says, "Did you, now?"

"It was very gross. Seems like it would be up your alley, though." Silver leans against him, putting his chin over his head. 

Flint snorts. He's not wrong. "I'm allergic to cats, by the way, it's not that I don't like them. I don't even know why I lied about that."

"I'm Jewish," Silver says. "Kind of wish we had a chuppah at our wedding."

Flint opens his eyes. "I was married, once," he says, and he can feel Silver stiffen at that, then like he's making himself relax once again. 

Silver doesn't ask, but the question is implicit, as Flint can feel his throat move in a swallow. 

Flint studies the quilt underneath them. He says, "He died while I was in the Navy. I left and ended up doing this because I didn't know what else I could offer - and I was so angry. That day in Bogota was three years to the day since I last saw him." 

"Bogota," Silver repeats, on an exhale. "How... did it happen?" 

"Car accident," Flint says, his eyes now up on the ceiling. He can feel Silver's heartbeat like this, a steady thrum through his skin in time with his. "I thought for such a long time that it had been something nefarious because I couldn't think of a world so cruel that something random like that could happen."

Silver keeps quiet. Flint says, "The accident not only took Thomas away from me, but Miranda too - she was his friend, and I loved her too. I wish you could've known them." 

"Me too," Silver says, and he turns his head to press a soft kiss to the top of Flint's head. "I never knew my family." 

Flint waits for elaboration, but Silver provides none - not now, at least. They have all the time in the world, Flint realizes, and it's with some kind of giddy happiness that he realizes that they do - and that that time is theirs, truly, now. 

Flint twists his neck so that he can look right at Silver. "We can get married again, if you want," Flint says, and Silver meets his eyes, "A chuppah?"

"Think we'd have to get divorced first," Silver says, eyes intent on him all the same as his mouth quirks. "Do you think that us secretly being assassins falls under fraud in obtaining a marriage license? Irreconcilable differences?"

"We could make it happen," Flint says, giving a shrug and immediately regretting the gesture when it makes his shoulder flare. Silver removes his ice pack and presses it against the top of his shoulder without a word, somehow perfectly aligning with the ache.

"I knew I wanted to marry you from the day we met," Silver says, reaching up with his free hand to tuck a piece of Flint's hair behind his ear, as easy as it had been when they had first been married. 

He's missed touches like that. "Liar," Flint says, but he can't help how fond he sounds in saying it. "You saw me, and you thought - "

The sound of his emergency phone chirping cuts him off. He recognizes the sound as the backup one, the one he stashes in the fake drawer in his bedside table. 

That doesn't bode well, Flint thinks, and he says, "Hold on," just as another, unknown phone chimes from across their room. 

"Oops," Silver says, hopping off the bed and away from Flint, grabbing a crutch to move across the room. "I probably should tell Max that I'll be taking a vacation." 

He picks up his own phone, as Flint pops open the secret compartment in his side-table. He sees that he has a single message on the screen, from an unknown number that could only come from one person: 

>>New hit. they're sending team. go dark asap

"Shit," Flint says, then, wildly, "Silver, get _ down _ \- "

For not the first time tonight, Silver hits the ground, but this time without question. It's with perfect timing, as the dresser is struck by a bullet, a single hole appearing in the window across their bedroom where his head had just been. 

"Goddamn it," Silver growls from the ground, "Tell me you didn't call for backup!"

"_ No _," Flint says emphatically, already off the bed and searching for guns, clothing - "They put out a hit on you for some reason. I'll have to call in, get this sorted - "

"Three vans out front," Silver says, peering over the windowsill, then, "Well, this doesn't bode well." 

He holds it up so that Flint can see the attached image of his own face on the screen, and then he swipes, and it's a photo of _ both _of them. "Max just sent this to me. We're both on the hit list." 

Flint realizes something, then, something that he maybe should've put together earlier. He's going to blame several orgasms for the temporary oversight, but now that someone's trying to kill both of them, he finds that the truth becomes clear. 

"Silver," Flint says, because he needs to confirm his guess. Silver glances over to him, from where he's trying to get sight on the sniper. "Did you know I was an assassin when you married me?"

"Of course I didn't," Silver says, actually looking wounded for a second before his expression morphs into realization. "You think - "

Flint says, "I doubt my employer, or whoever would know about you on your side, would like that two of us in this profession were married." 

"We were set up with that hit job," Silver says, realizing what this means as Flint puts together the pieces in his head. "Someone wants both of us dead. And when we didn't kill each other just now..."

"They sent others to finish the job," Flint finishes. 

Madi's text message would suggest that she wouldn't be a part of the team stationed outside right now; he can't say the same for whoever else Eleanor may have sent. Her betrayal stings, but it's not something that he can ruminate on right now - the downside of being an assassin, after all, is that everyone has a price that would break loyalty. Madi included - but fuck, he _ really _doesn't want to be proven wrong about that right now. His luck has already been much too fortuitous this night, and he doesn't want to press it.

Flint finally finds both of his guns still under the bed, hanging onto one for Silver. "I've seen this before," Silver says darkly, sliding on a button-up - it's Flint's shirt, hanging loose over his shoulders for now - while not dragging his eyes away from outside. "Getting rid of team-ups. Assassins working together, no one likes that." 

"We could do this," Flint says, already planning their next move. Silver glances back at him. "But it's going to be ugly. We can't trust anyone else."

"Do you trust me?" Silver asks him, and Flint nods, once. 

As if on cue, the power goes out. The street lamp from outside still illuminates Silver's hair, though, and Flint watches as Silver grins, the light glinting off his teeth. 

"What do you say - should we let them in?" 


End file.
